


Seven Mighty Warriors

by CloudyDay



Series: Though Not Written by a Figure [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Norse Religion & Lore, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Norse Religion & Lore, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Avenger Loki (Marvel), Brainwashing, Canon-Typical Violence, Characters Swear Like (Viking) Sailors, Fantastic Racism, Flashbacks, Friendship is Magic, Gen, Hallucinations, Jotunn Loki (Marvel), Loki and Thor Are Not Related, Mind Control, POV Alternating, Politics, Religion, Sexism, Teambuilding, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Worldbuilding, so does the author
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2020-10-30 13:50:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 89,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20773355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudyDay/pseuds/CloudyDay
Summary: Loki and Thor are not brothers, they did not grow up on the same realm and now they are not even quite what one could call enemies. But a seemingly innocious visit to Earth might put their newly forged peace to the test. A theft of a dangerous weapon wakes old ghosts from their shared past, when the thief turns out to be someone both would have preferred never to see again, outside of their nightmares.In an attempt to protect the world they love they have to work with a new set of teammates, unravel a dangerous plot, are exposed to cruel magics and suffer the dire perils of a hero's life.A re-telling of the firstAvengersmovie, that lets Loki be the good guy we all know he could be and that gives our guys and gals enough time to become a proper team.





	1. Three princes in the snow and two aliens on a plane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome everyone, to a new adventure!  
I'm thrilled that we made it this far. There are many new characters to explore and new POVs to get just right. It will be a challenge, after years of writing for only two main characters, to now add five others to the mix. But your many positive comments and kudos on the first part of this series did give me the confidence to try my hand at writing Tony, Steve and Bruce, plus a new villain of my making. 
> 
> This sequel has been highly anticipated and I hope it will not disappoint.  
As always, I am open to helpful criticism and requests, concerning POVs or plot ideas. 
> 
> And, now, happy reading!

.........

LL

.........

_"In order to break a curse, one first has to understand it in its entirety," _read Gandálfr the Wise's ponderous but aptly named _Cursebreaker_. _"There is the aim of the curse to be considered, as well as its intended target..."_

"Loki."

_"...but just as important are the circumstances in which it can be cast and its limitations. On page 563 I have illustrated a particularly vicious piece of spell work that could only be performed during a full moon. Taking everything we shall cover in this volume into account, it stands to reason, that this curse could only be broken when the moon was at its lowest point in the sky."_

"Loki!"

He looked up for a moment to pull the writing tablet a little closer, jotted down a few notes, then went back to his reading.

_"Not to be discounted, of course, is the original caster's mastery over magic. Even a highly skilful and well learned mage might have difficulty undoing the work of one more powerful then themselves. There is a chance to accomplish such a feat if one knows how to..."_

"Loki Laufeyson!" a deep voice insisted and, he knew the use of his full name threatened trouble, should he continue to ignore the speaker.

So, reluctantly, he lifted his head out of his book; not hiding his irritation but asking in a sugar-sweet tone,

"Yes?"

"Oho, he has noticed me," the man on front of him said cheerfully, before clapping the other beside him on the back. "There you have it, little one; he has _not_ forgotten that we are with him."

Very much not amused, Loki rolled his eyes and said, "Of course, I have not forgotten you. After all, it was _you_ who dragged me out here."

"Here" was the palace courtyard, located behind the massive grey stone structure. At this time of day it was nearly empty as the soldiers, who made up the majority of the inhabitants, were either on duty or asleep. Loki and his two companions were sitting in what might generously be described as a park - though it really was no more than a collection of tables and benches carved from ice – which served as a moderately private meeting place.

"Well, someone had to force your hand," Helblindi replied, sounding the slightest bit exasperated, "when you have been locking yourself in your chambers for the last fortnight."

Now, that was... Surely, it had not been quite that long.

"I share a meal with our family, at least once a day," he began to protest, but the other Jötunn would not accept that as an excuse.

"You do, as per our tradition. But outside of those meals, you barely touch a morsel of food, you are awake at all hours and the only time you leave your rooms is when you unearth more books from the library."

No one on Jötunheimr had ever complained that he was reading too much; his people were not nearly so narrow-minded. And since he had reached adulthood, no one had treated him as though he could not take care of himself and required a minder. It was the latter offence that ignited Loki's anger.

"Have you made use of the servants to spy on me?" he asked, utterly outraged.

His older brother had always been overprotective, but this was taking it too far.

Helblindi, in contrast, remained completely calm. "I did not put them up to that," the captain assured him, though he did not look in the least regretful that he had gained information through those means, either. "They came to me of their own accord, because they worried for your well-being." When he saw the confusion that his words had brought on, he added, "You are their prince, after all."

Not knowing what to make of this explanation, he thought back on the last few months. He had noticed that the palace staff had become considerably more attentive of his needs, ever since he had retuned from Midgard. Yet he could not have reasoned out _why_ that was.

Certainly, Loki could not claim to have been unpopular on Jötunheimr before; even leaving aside his title, people respected him for his intellect and his accomplishments in the art of seidr. But on the day he had come back, every Jötunn he had met had expressed to him how they had prayed for him and how very happy they were to see he had not come to harm.

And, though his father would not have held a feast for something as trivial as the end of a punishment, some of the Jötnar who had known him for a long time had voiced the wish to celebrate him, as though he had single-handedly erased the threat of war. Never mind, that he had almost single-handedly _started_ it, as well.

Maybe this unusual concern was due to the rather nasty rumour, that had swept through the realm during his absence. For whatever reason, there were those who had convinced themselves that he had been secretly executed on Asgard and the tale of his banishment had merely served as a ruse, to cover up their enemy's crime. Which meant that people were simply relieved he was still alive.

That, in itself, was a nice sentiment; he only wished it had not led to him being fussed over.

"I was preoccupied with research; you know how I can get." It was hardly the first time that he had forgotten to eat or slept too little, when in the grip of a particularly fascinating book or experiment.

At least, on _this_ his dear brother saw no need to argue.

"Indeed, I know that you can be very negligent with yourself," he said; a soft smile taking the bite out of his words. "And I did not mean to imply that you ought to stop studying. 'Tis merely..." -He sighed and put an arm around their younger brother's shoulder, to include him in the next part of his answer- "You were gone for a long time and now that you are home, we hardly spend any time together."

Unsure whether or not to laugh at this absurd claim, he reminded both of his fellow princes that, "I spent the whole of winter with you."

The first storm, signalling the change of seasons, had hit Jötunheimr four days after Loki's return. Spring had set in as the harsh winds abated two weeks ago, which meant that the previous year's winter had lasted nearly four full months. Not that he had minded; the time with his family had been wonderful and just what he had needed after his eventful stay on Midgard.

They had talked much, into the late hours of the morning, about everything and nothing, as long as it had not touched upon politics or war. Neither had anyone made mention of the crimes for which he had been banished, but he had not been left with the smallest of doubts that he had been forgiven. And, to his relief, the rift that had formed between his father and mother was on its way to be mended.

All in all, these months had given him a true sense of contentment, which he would not exchange for even the greatest treasure in the Nine. Apparently, he had not shown his happiness openly enough, however.

"Yes, you were with us, as you are now," Býleistr agreed, but in a way that hinted he was going to correct himself in a moment.

As usual, he was wearing his white priestly robes, although there had been no ceremonies for him to perform today. In point of fact, it was rare to see him without them, unless some official occasion explicitly called for him to show himself as a prince. Right now, he was using the hem of said robes to give his nervous fingers something to do as he went on to speak.

"You are with us but your mind, it seems, is often elsewhere." Then, assisted by a look that was equal parts worried and reproachful, he asked, "Is there aught troubling you, Brother?"

Well, what could he say to that? Aside from the truth, of course.

Despite his reputation, Loki did not much enjoy lying to those he loved, not even by omission. Because of that, he had thought long and hard about sharing the tale of the terrible mistake he had made in his youth, especially when he had received repeated inquiries from each of his family members, as to why he had been attacked on Midgard. He was relatively sure that neither of them would condemn him for an action he had taken while drunk and heartsick, yet he was not above condemning himself. Just the thought of what he had put that young Vanr through, of how he had carelessly destroyed another person's life, filled him with almost suffocating amounts of shame.

His banishment had changed him enough that he was ready to take on responsibility for his mistakes, which did not mean he had become so selfless as to reveal those no one yet knew about.

Therefore, all he said on the matter was, "I made a promise on Midgard that I intend to fulfil as soon as possible." Given that he had issued that curse _six centuries_ ago, undoing it could not happen soon enough.

"To be sure, I would not want you to break any promises," Helblindi allowed, with an air of understanding that revealed he was aware of the nature, if not the exact contents, of the vow the Trickster had made to Eldir. "But is there a reason why you must fulfil this one _today_?"

No, there was not and, frankly, he held out little hope that he could. The myriad of tomes that he had, as his brother had pointed out, been perusing for the last fortnight, had yielded no remedies. What he had read of the _Oath-breaker's Bane_ itself had been even less encouraging. Why had he not just turned that boy into a toad? That would have been easily undone. As it was, he would be lucky to find a counter spell within the next century, if at all. Still, he had to try.

"No, but I will not manage it at a later date if I do not continue my research," he replied, perhaps a bit more sharply than he had intended. But if that got him some peace and quiet, maybe he should be blunt about this. "So, if you could be so good as to go back to what you were doing before you pestered me, then I can get back to my reading."

Neither of his brothers seemed happy with that suggestion yet as they did not raise objections, he lowered his eyes again to the book in his lap. He got about a page further before he had to stop, in order to wipe snow out of his eyes.

Confused he looked up at the sky, despite recalling that there had been no sign of snow an hour ago. Spring might be the mildest of Jötunheimr's seasons but it did not come even close to another realm's concept of "warm". That being said, a light downpour of flakes would not have been unusual this time of year, but it would still have required at least one white cloud. And as none could be seen, that meant...

"Did you just throw snow in my face?"

His brother blushed in embarrassment, which was likely genuine. "Oh, did I? How odd; my hand must have slipped." That did, however, not prevent him form teasingly adding, "Please, do not let that distract you from your important work." The grin he was wearing looked out of place on Býleistr's face, though it probably only heightened their resemblance.

Shaking his head in exasperation Loki decided to not even grace that ridiculousness with a reply. He meant to resume his work, but then he saw what the third in their party was holding in his hands.

"Do not dare to throw that; this text is older than _you_." He held the ancient tome protectively against his chest, already thinking up a dozen shield charms he could use to prevent the brittle pages from being soaked through.

"Then, maybe you should put it away," Helblindi advised helpfully, without dropping the unnecessarily large snowball he had formed while the other two were talking. 

Oh, so that was the way of it, hm?

"Are you sure you wish to play that game with me, Brother?" the mage asked in challenge. He swiped one hand over _Cursebreaker_ to sent it back to his personal branch on Yggdrasil, and leaped up into a battle stance.

The captain only smirked at his co-conspirator. "What say you, little one?"

The priest nodded once, still grinning.

And, with that, the war was on.

All Jötnar could manipulate water, in whatever form, which was mostly used to make weapons or to alter the terrain around them to the disadvantage of an enemy. They could, however, also use that ability to pelt each other with snow. It was an activity for children, so the three brothers really should have felt too mature and dignified to stoop to this. But even as princes, they did not always have to conform to expectations.

At first, Loki was without an ally, having to fend off attacks from all sides. Yet, soon enough, they broke up into different factions – the younger brothers against the older, who used his height to his advantage against the foes' greater number; then the older brothers against the youngest, who kept hitting them at the back of their heads with unnerving precision.

It was a childish and unproductive way to spent their time and it left the courtyard in a state that resembled the aftermath of a stampede by a horde of Vanardýr.

Most of all, though, it was fun.

He would not go so far as to say that this made him forget the curse and all its implications entirely, or that Helblindi and Býleistr had suddenly ceased being worried for him. Yet, while they were hurling projectiles at one another and laughing like mad at perfect strikes as snow was gathering in their hair, they could put the more serious matters aside.

Unfortunately, all good things had to come to an end. The game did when Loki accidentally hit someone who had not signed up to play.

Someone with golden skin, golden hair, and a very unmanly shriek.

"Oops."

.........

TO

.........

Because he had last come here as an enemy, set on killing their prince and any of the race who got in his way, he now would not have blamed the Jötnar to greet him with hatred in their eyes or spears in their hands. He was, however, surprised to be attacked with _snow_.

As he blinked away a curtain of the white stuff, he could hear an all too familiar giggle mocking him.

The other two Laufeysons – when he could finally see them again – looked the slightest bit wary. But Loki seemed positively cheerful as he said, "Well met, Thor. How nice of you to visit."

It was hard to tell whether that friendly welcome was genuine. Though, as neither of the brothers was reaching for a weapon, he would just assume it was so. Shaking the last flakes of snow from his hair, he replied, "Good day everyone. I am sorry that I come unannounced and thereby disturbed your...eh, training." He had no idea what they had actually been doing before he had arrived; it had looked quite the rowdy battle.

The two older giants grinned at one another; the younger glared at him.

Right. He should probably get on with explaining why he was here.

"I was wondering if I could talk to Loki alone for a moment."

"Why? Do you have some secret plot to discuss, Odinson?" the captain, Helblindi, asked. With his arms crossed in front of his chest he was looking down on all others; his posture appearing hostile only because of his height, and his tone had been merely teasing.

Which reminded him of something Baldr had told him; that this man was kind and soft-hearted and very protective of his family. Furthermore, he had proved himself a flawless host and polite guest to the younger prince, which Thor felt he had to repay in equal measure.

"You are right; this does not truly require privacy," he admitted, smiling at the taller Jötunn in what he hoped was an agreeable manner. "I have only now come from Midgard and..."

Loki talked over him, his eyes wide and voice filled with genuine concern, "Are our friends well?"

Ah, yes; he had not seen the mortals in a quarter of a year and the two of them had last spoken around the same time. It had to be difficult to be barred from even visiting the people who were so dear to one's heart. Luckily, there was a solution to that.

"They are hale, all of them. Jane says the work on her bridge is going slow but steady. And Darcy has already convinced the cooks of the Triskelion to offer more healthy food in their mess hall." The Trickster smiled at this, probably imagining her to have come up with all sorts of mischief or simply because he was thinking fondly of his 'sister'. "It is Shield I am here for. A weapon was stolen from one of their strongholds."

"And, naturally, you suspect _Loki _of the theft," the lad, Býleistr, stated harshly; the fire in his eyes strong enough to, for example, set a cloak on fire. But, fortunately, he had no skill with magic and, to be exact, he was no child anymore. He did look young, however; standing a head shorter than the brother he was aiming to defend; his face framed by short black curls. 

Thor was quite sure they had never met in person before and, therefore, he had no idea what the cause was for such animosity. It was possible that the priest just disliked all Aesir on principle. Also, they were technically still enemies, so it was hard to fault him for his less than welcoming attitude.

Determined not to incite an argument, the Ás was quick to appease, "No, no; of course, not. What we believe is that the thief used magic to remain undetected. Which is why I advocated that we ask Loki for help, given his expertise in seidr."

"You recommended me to the agents for my talents? I am flattered, Thunderer," the mage replied, clearly speaking in jest. Yet the crooked grin he tried in vain to hide showed he was secretly pleased.

"Does that mean you will help?" Thor asked, to be certain.

Instead of answering, the Jötunn looked up at his elder brother, as if to seek permission. Was he no longer allowed to leave the realm? That seemed an unnecessary precaution, now that the truce had been renewed.

"This is important to you, is it not?" Helblindi inquired, his expression surprisingly gentle. Loki only nodded in response. "Then, I shall make your excuses to Father."

Those words earned the captain a look so very affectionate, that it could have easily been interpreted as false, if Darcy had not often received similar looks from the same, usually so reticent man.

Next, Loki turned to his younger brother, who seemed rather upset, all of a sudden. The two conversed quietly; at some point they even sounded as though they were praying together.

Not wishing to intrude, Thor chose to address the other Jötunn. "This should not take longer than a few hours," he assured, although he was likely a poor judge on what would be required to magically detect a missing item.

Sure enough, the older prince looked far from convinced. "Good," he said, regardless of his misgivings. "But I hope you are aware that you will be held responsible for any harm that comes to Loki during those _few hours_, Thor Odinson."

The warning was issued calmly, in a tone that one might use to discuss the weather. A fool, though who would not have taken it seriously. "I could promise to look out for him," he replied, with a tentative smile. "However, there is a good chance that he would stab me for the attempt alone."

Chuckling, Helblindi remarked, "Too true. I will just have to trust that he can keep himself out of trouble for one day."

"Are you gossiping about me?" a voice inquired, while its owner leaned over his shoulder, startling Thor badly. Only the Trickster could sneak up on the very people who had been discussing him, without a convenient pillar to hide behind and in a yard hushed by a blanket of snow.

Gleefully he laughed at his former enemy's undignified yelp, before announcing, "Now, 'tis time to go. Midgard is awaiting us." Eager as he seemed to finally be on his way, he did take the time to ponder the technicalities. "Say, you do remember that I am not supposed to walk the mortal realm, right?"

He did remember, yes, though the mention of this made him uncomfortable. That old stipulation had sadly not been left out of the new treaty between Asgard and Jötunheimr, even though he thought it was no longer necessary. The Jötnar were no threat to the humans and did not wish to be so. Loki had argued fiercely against this, the day after their return, when the negotiations had been finalised, yet his words had fallen on deaf ears, just as Thor's had. But, at least, he had managed to reach a small compromise.

"Do not worry. As the people of that realm have asked for your aid, I could convince my father to allow you this visit. But just this once." He added the last part reluctantly, studying the patterns his boots had left in the snow so he would not have to look the other prince in the eye. Certainly, he agreed with their mutual friends, that this was anything but fair; there was, however, not much he could do about it. Not yet.

Loki seemed happy enough with that small exception, though he could not help but remark, "Verily, I would not wish to impose on Odin King's generosity. What an impudent wretch that would make me."

The image of him saying those very same words whilst standing before Asgard's throne, with his overdramatic gestures and the smile that showed a row of awfully sharp teeth, was too hilarious not to laugh at. Even as Odin's son, he felt no anger at the mockery. As he had learned on Midgard, it was best not to take such things too seriously, anyhow.

In good humour he replied, "It might be safest to keep that impudence to ourselves, I think. We have both angered enough kings to last us a lifetime." They had also had to humble themselves before their respective rulers, to ensure an end to the war they had brought about.

The Trickster, who had done even that with a blatant use of irony, now countered playfully, "Oh, I do not know. There should be a few kings on Midgard not yet made familiar with our charms."

Although he was clearly amused by is own jest, the other Jötnar looked far from impressed. The priest was beseeching the ancestors, the captain was beseeching Thor. "Please, do _not_ let him meet any foreign royalty." When he received a slightly awkward nod in response, he turned to Loki. "I will start worrying if you are not back by supper."

"Start? When have you ever _stopped_ worrying, brother dear?"

Despite the sarcastic tone, he did follow up his quip with proper goodbyes to both his brothers, promising to sent word, likely through one of his illusionary doubles, if he should have to remain on Midgard for longer than anticipated.

It was only when they had already walked beyond the palace complex and were therefore well out of earshot of any, potentially offended, listeners that Loki asked, "It is like this for you, too? That your brother has become so... shall I say, _clingy _since your return?"

It was an oddly personal question, that would have greatly taken Thor aback a year ago, but now seemed rather appropriate. There were, after all, not many people who could relate to their situation, beside their fellow former exile.

"Hm, I do not know if that is the word I would use. Baldr is not trying to stop me from leaving Asgard." At least, not so far, though he might take issue with an absence that lasted more than a day. "It is true that we have spent more time together lately, travelling, hunting, training." They were not keeping the latter secret, anymore; as his little brother had pointed out to their parents, fighting with wooden swords could hardly be viewed as more dangerous than visits to their enemy's realm. "But I do think he is still asking Heimdallr for reports on me, when I am not home."

An action he could understand, after having been separated from his family without a means to contact them or assure himself of their well-being. His companion, though, shuddered visibly at the prospect of being watched so closely.

"Urgh. Remind me to thank the ancestors for never plaguing us with an all-seeing gatekeeper," he said, with a furtive look at the sky. "Helblindi would just love to have me spied on, day and night." He sounded disgruntled as he said this but his tone changed to one more openly curious when he asked, "Though, speaking of the gatekeeper, are you not going to call on him to spirit you away to Midgard or were you planning on walking all the way there?"

Oh. Right.

The thing was, he kept forgetting that he _could_ do this now or simply twirl Mjölnir in his hand and fly towards the Bifröst site on the other end of the capital, which was how he had arrived at the Jötunn palace in the first place. Sometimes he even caught himself doing chores, like cleaning his room on his own, unused as he was to having servants. Once, when he had been overheard questioning a tavern's cook on a recipe for soup, Fandral had naturally assumed it a clumsy attempt at charming the lady, though in truth he had been thinking of the many hours spent in the kitchen with Darcy.

Norns knew, it ought not be so hard to readjust to a life he had lived for hundreds of years, but he supposed not all consequences of his banishment could be beneficial.

"We can walk on if you wish," Loki suggested, when he took too long to answer. "But in that case I might as well turn around and inform my brothers that I will not be back before tomorrow. 'Tis rather a long walk through the whole of Vagga."

From flying over it he knew that the palace was located at the outskirts of the town, and while the two of them had been conversing they had reached what looked like a market. The stalls were made of ice or crudely arranged rocks, the vendors tall and blue and exclusively male, but apart from that it seemed like any other market Thor had visited. Gladly, he would have taken the time to inspect the wares on offer, yet that adventure would have to wait for another day.

"No; I will fly ahead and you will do your... skytreading," he replied, feeling a tad foolish as he mentioned this working of magic that, despite listening in on an explanation delivered to Jane and Erik, he could not even begin to comprehend.

As far as he was aware, no one but Loki knew how to leap along Yggdrasil's branches and thereby undertake a day's journey in the blink of an eye. However, as the title had been bestowed on him by his people, it was possible that – as with the title of Thunderer which had once belonged to another prince – he was not the first Sky-treader.

"As you say," the mage agreed. He seemed to ready the necessary spells, magic pooling in his palms, but then he halted in the task to inquire, "Is it Washington we are bound for? In that case, you might have to wait for me, until I have found a path leading to it."

"That is our destination, yes, but we cannot go there directly; there is no convenient landing site in that city." Convenient meaning, out of sight of curious mortals, which was how both Odin and Shield's director preferred it. "I was told that an agent will pick us up from New Mexico."

The Trickster turned to him, his reply a joyous "Excellent!" His set of red eyes were sparkling mischievously, his expression becoming fond as he went on, "I do remember how to reach Puente Antiguo." With a smirk and a silly little wave he disappeared in a shimmer of green.

Thor smiled to himself and swung Mjölnir towards the sky, following his former enemy to Midgard.

.........

LL

.........

As it turned out, when he arrived, it was _Loki_ who had to do the waiting. He was not bothered by this, though, as he used the time alone to look over his surroundings. Nothing outwardly had changed in the small town that he could espy from a distance. Which was not surprising, given that he had last been here a Midgardian year ago. The world _felt_ different, however.

It was not only the heat that was more brutal after having just left his icy home, or the magic that he had before been unable to sense. Maybe, the most significant change was that he had come here willingly, to help the friends he had made, and not as a dishonoured exile.

When the Thunderer finally landed beside him – in that graceless way of his that resembled a stone being dropped from on high – the men of Shield had yet to show themselves. So, they just continued their casual conversation.

"Have you been back here often?" he asked, vowing to himself that he would not be resentful of the answer.

Thor shrugged both shoulders before saying, "Not as often as I would have liked. Once, sometimes twice a week."

Ah, so only about a hundred times, then.

Pushing down his natural inclination for sarcasm Loki commented, "Court life has kept you busy, I take it." Because, otherwise, the besotted oaf would not have been parted from his lady Jane for longer than a day.

"Eh, yes; that it has." Nervously the Ás kneaded the back of his neck, his tone sheepish as he explained, "You might know that I have asked my father to delay the coronation for a few years."

Now, that was hardly a secret. The elven traders visiting Jötunheimr at winter's end had shared the news at the markets. The Jötnar had been relieved to hear of this but most were confused as to why anyone would deny themselves the power a throne would bring with it. Only one of them knew what had led to this decision.

"I am trying to learn as much about kingship in the time that I was granted."

Huh, a sensible plan, that. Which just went to show what a difference a spot of banishment could make. Would it be churlish of him to feel pride at having facilitated the circumstances in which his former enemy had gained some wisdom? But, then, that would mean he had forgotten the lessons he himself had learned here.

Not wishing to fall back on old habits, he chose to change the subject.

"During one of your infrequent visits to Midgard did you, perchance, meet that mysterious director?"

Amongst their mortal friends they had been debating what sort of man he was and whether he could truly be a better leader to the agents than Coulson. In light of this, he was admittedly curious about Thor's impression.

"Eh, he is quite... stern; I honestly think he does not posses much of a sense of humour. But his people seem to greatly respect him and laud him as a fearless leader." He thought his answer through for a moment, then added, "Actually he reminds me somewhat of Týr."

Oh what a ringing endorsement, especially for the Trickster, whom Asgard's general openly despised. A few months ago the "fearless leader" of the Einherjar had demanded that Loki should be locked in the dungeons for his attack on the Golden Realm, because to him banishment had been too mild a punishment. That was not exactly a brilliant display of diplomacy when voiced during peace talks.

Some of his sour mood must have shown on his face, for the Ás was quick to amend, "Though, really, you should make up your own opinion, when you meet him."

And such a meeting might take place sooner than expected, if he correctly judged the craft flying above them to be one of Shield's. It was roughly the size of a transport vessel on Vanaheimr and its shape was vaguely bird-like. That it was owned by a group of spies might explain the austere look, though for missions that required stealth, the landing was far too noisy.

Upon setting down in the sand, next to the Bifröst's imprint, a ramp was lowered and a voice called from inside. "Hey guys, I hope I'm not late for the reunion."

Encouraged by the friendly greeting, Loki did not hesitate to step into the flying craft.

"Barton. Now, this is a surprise," he said to the blond sitting before the controls. "I did not know that you are a pilot in addition to being an archer."

At his entrance the agent turned around in his seat, smiling warmly. "Hi Loki, nice of you to drop by. And what can I say, I'm versatile."

In lieu of a verbal greeting Thor clapped the mortal on the back, hard enough to make him lean forward with a small "Oof". Barton took the manhandling in stride, probably used to it by now, and turned his chair around to move his hands over the controls.

"Take a seat, gentlemen. We will be cruising at an altitude of 54,000 feet. at an airspeed of 1,500 miles per hour. We are expecting to arrive in Washington D.C. in three hours and thirty-five minutes," he announced with an air of false formality.

There was only one chair next to that of the pilot's; both princes regarded it greedily like hunting dogs spotting a deer in the woods. When Loki simply leaped over the backrest and made himself comfortable on the black leather, the Thunderer rolled his eyes and remained standing, gracefully accepting defeat.

"You know, I kinda expected you to be blue from head to toe," the blond to his left said, his tone one of disappointment at what he saw - a guise of white skin and garments of green and black, in the fashion of the Aesir. The blond Às to his right did his best not to stare. "What, was the heat too much for you?"

Loki nodded curtly. "Something like that," he claimed because that was easier than explaining that it had been pure instinct that had him shift into this old facade the moment he had taken the first warm breath of Midgardian air. Not an instinct to protect himself from the elements but one built on months of familiarity. He would have to work on shaking off this strange impulse but changing now would look as though he were acting out of embarrassment. So, he remained as he was and left it to the others to ponder his motives.

For a while the archer had to focus on flying the ship and his passengers watched the desert slowly turn into a dusty smudge in the distance. They could both fly in their own ways, yet somehow this was no less a fascinating experience. He did not think any Jötunn had ever seen Midgard from this vantage point, above all living beings but still caught in its gravity. It was beautifully, really, this world – lit by colourful lights brighter than flame, covered in buildings that strove to touch the clouds, teeming with life that hurried through winding roads as ants through an anthill.

"Nice view, heh?" Barton pointed out, pride ringing in his voice.

"That it is. And, I would reckon, not something many people get to enjoy."

During one of their many afternoons of bartering knowledge for knowledge, Erik had told him about _planes_, which were used to ferry large groups of mortals from one port to another. Surely, the accomplished scholar would not have failed to mention that there existed smaller, far more personalised crafts that came close to the skiffs common on Asgard, had he known of them.

"Yeah, a ride on a Quinjet is a real treat, let me tell you," the ship's pilot boasted, petting the console with the hand not needed for steering, like one might a favoured pet. "You can't book those babies for commercial flights, though they're faster and more reliable than most military aircraft."

"They are armed, as well," Thor observed. The oaf seemed impressed by that detail because the makers of Asgard's vessels, who were incidentally Vanir, had apparently never thought to add canons. An oversight for which the inhabitants of the other realms were duly grateful.

"You noticed that, did yea?" the agent remarked, smirking. "Granted, the thing's not build to enter active war zones but that Gatling gun we've got onboard packs quite the punch."

As a warrior not unfamiliar with battlefields he had to wonder about the practicality of supporting one's army with a vehicle that was so very loud and also, "Is it not a bit too... visible to potential enemies?" At least, on a sunny day. To give the mortals credit, though, they had refrained from painting the hull bright gold.

Barton stared contemplatively at him for a moment, as though on the verge of arguing, but then he turned back to steering, flipping over a few of the small levers and pushing buttons almost absent-mindedly.

The sky before them looked as though it were widening, which was only a trick of the mind because it was the ship around them that disappeared, even if only from the outside. He felt no surge of magic that indicated a spell of invisibility. No, this was done by technology, a cloaking mechanism, created by people that those of the other realms thought mere children.

Now Loki could not deny to be impressed, as well.

"Is this more what you were hoping for?" the archer asked in dry amusement. Upon being met by a set of similarly stunned looks he huffed out a laugh, mirthfully declaring, "Man, if you're that taken with a simple Quinjet, I really gotta show you the Helicarrier. It's like ten times the size and it's got so many more fun features."

Intrigued, he spent the remainder of the flight with questioning the Shield agent on his organisation's marvellous inventions.

Regardless of the months he had lived here, it seemed that he had much and more to learn about Midgard. But those new discoveries and the hunt for a thief might be just the distraction he had needed.

On a realm that moved at such a quick pace he was not likely to be confronted with the mistakes of the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be clear, this story isn't fished yet. The chapter count is only my current estimate and could change at any point (which is very likely because I'm terrible at keeping it short). I have mapped out these 38 chapters, though, and I am already 100% sure of the ending.
> 
> The author "Gandálfr" is, of course, inspired by _Lord of the Rings_, though there is a character by that name in the Eddas, who predates the wise wizard. The name is a combination of the words for "magic staff" _gandr_ and Elf _álfr_, so that seemed fitting. 
> 
> The Quinjet in the comics can get up to Mach 8 in speed and, with some modifications, fly into space. I let Clint cruise at a somewhat slower speed, because they weren't in any hurry. But that way he could cut a 10 hour flight to one lasting a little more than 3 hours. ;)
> 
> Now, this chapter serves only as an introduction of some of the themes that this story will deal with. We will meet the other Avengers in the following chapters; each of them will get a fair number of POVs, though the focus will remain on Thor and Loki. Which, I doubt, any of you will mind.
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments. I'm looking forward those and to many more years spent (hopefully with writing more than one fic ) in this verse. 
> 
> See you next chapter!  



	2. Twelve percent invested, one hundred percent curious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If a highly volatile object of unknown origins goes missing, who do you call? Right, not him. Because he has villains to fight and self-sustaining skyscrapers to build. But, then, he had to admit there wasn't anyone better suited for the job. At least, not on _this_ planet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!  
A new chapter and a completely new POV. The character behind that should be easy to recognize, not only by the initials but also by the manner of speech. If I've done my job well, that is.
> 
> The next four or so chapters will be more of an introduction of each of the Avengers and how they fit into my verse, before the meat of the plot sets in.  
That means the all of them will get their own POVs and then I'll see to the team building.  
I won't even bother with planing any kind of posting schedule, but I promise to update as soon as I can.
> 
> And now, as always, I wish you a fun read!

.........

TS

.........

Looking back, he would say that it all started on a totally normal day, if one went by his own, slightly skewered, interpretation of "normal".

He had stored his suit in the workshop and Pep had actually managed to keep both of their schedules free, so that she could help him design the office levels of the recently christened Stark Tower. This technically counted as work but felt more like vacation time, as they were sitting at the bar, sharing ideas and a late lunch.

Because his dear CEO was perfect at her job, he could excuse her sub-par interest in his inventions; he couldn't deny, though, that it was giving him a thrill to see her handling the tower projections as though she was just flipping the pages of a newspaper. Honestly, he couldn't wipe that goofy smile off his face as he watched her play around with the little blue model on the counter between them; it was damn mesmerizing. The sight almost made him miss what she was saying to him but thankfully he was great at multi-tasking.

"Are you sure that we need _two_ employee-only swimming pools?" She sounded skeptical but not really shocked by his plans; there wasn't much that would rattle her. "We haven't even hired enough people to fill the first five floors."

As usual, Pepper was right. Most of the SI staff had been happy to make the move from LA to New York, but the new company headquarters offered a lot more space than the old, which meant he wasn't forced to cram anyone into those ugly, soul-crushing cubicles. But it also meant that after its official opening next month the 93-storey tall tower would stand all but empty.

"Yeah, but you were the one complaining about the stacks of CVs on your desk," he shot back with a good bit of sass. It definitely stroked his ego that hundreds of applications had fluttered in, on the same day that he had announced the move, especially as he'd be the first to admit that he wasn't the easiest person to work with or for. But, then, he'd never been stingy on the benefits. "Besides, everyone hates a crowded pool."

The reply earned him one of Pep's patented half-smiles that he loved because it showed that she was actually agreeing with him, despite thinking she shouldn't.

"OK, two it is," she said, noting down the specifications on her Starkpad without further argument, though he could practically see her internal eye-roll at his antics.

It would have been fun to see her reaction to his plans for the gym but, sadly, an announcement form JARVIS put an end to their lazy afternoon.

"Sir, the telephone. I'm afraid my protocols are being overwritten."

He sighed and slowly pulled his custom-made phone from his pocket. Any attempt to forestall a meeting with one of the Men in Black wannabes by playing the No-one's-home trick was quashed, however, the moment the elevator doors opened to reveal none other than Coulson.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

Annoyed he called out "Security breach" to his trusty AI, more out of pettiness than any hope of making the intruder disappear. This wasn't the first and wouldn't be the last incident of that kind; there were several quirks left to iron out before he could safely make his home in the tower.

"Consulting hours are between eight and five, every other Thursday," he recited in monotone, as he noticed the tablet tucked under Agent's arm, not the least bit interested in whatever favor he was supposed to do SHIELD.

"This is urgent," the spy insisted, even though he sounded as unflappable as always. But the way he was pressing his lips together tightly was a sign that he would have loved nothing better than to threaten a certain billionaire with a taser, again. "I need you to have a look at this."

Pepper took the tablet from the man's outstretched hand after he ignored Tony's protest of not liking anyone handing him things. When she held it out to him, he knew he was beat at his own game.

OK, fine; he would play along. Maybe if he could solve this problem quickly, he could save what remained of his day off.

Once he'd carried the device over to his workstation and entered his clearance code he was greeted by a picture of a glowing blue cube.

"The Tesseract," he said just to make clear that he got the clue of this little show-and-tell, which was somewhat lacking in the "tell" department. 

The explanation followed a moment later, though even that left him with too many questions to ask. "Yes. It's been in Shield's custody since the 80s, when your father passed it on to us."

Well, he knew that and Coulson knew he knew, because it had been included in the files the agent had given him to "help" him find an alternative to Palladium.

"I'm not sure what you want me to do with that thing. You probably know more about it than I do."

He wasn't being humble, Tony Stark _didn't do_ humble, but Howard had been kind of obsessed with the cube, judging by his notes. Not surprising that, as he'd found the sparkly paperweight when he'd been searching for his buddy Captain America. And what his dear old dad had learned during his decades of studying it, he would have shared with his colleagues at the agency.

"That's possible," the agent allowed generously, "But what I don't know is how to _find _it." He smiled and waited, to achieve the proper dramatic effect before he went on, "It's been stolen. We have no idea by whom or how." Yeah, and admitting that obviously stung.

Suddenly Tony got the reason for the urgency. Though he had only skimmed Howard's mass of scribbles concerning the Tesseract - once he'd accepted that it wouldn't work with his arc reactor - he was aware of the role it had played in Hydra's ploy to out-crazy the Nazis. In the wrong hands an unlimited power source, that was more dangerous than any weapon he had constructed during his Merchant of Death times, could be like a ticking time-bomb.

And to him, even SHIELD qualified as "the wrong hands". Though, as the saying went, better the devil you know.

"We were hoping you could help us track it down." 

Coulson, at least, was capable of making that sound like a request, where others would have issued it as an order. Of the whole lot, Agent was the easiest to deal with. A notable distinction that did, however, not guard him from the patented Stark hubris.

"Sure, I'll help, but only if you pay overtime."

Not that he needed the money, but if SHIELD wanted him to work on his day off, they might as well make it worth his while.

.........

Other than the pocket change of his consultant fee, which he felt compelled to reinvest in SHIELD because most of the tech in their headquarters was hopelessly outdated, he was compensated by some much-appreciated mental stimulation.

The Science Department was made out of pure awesome, housing a group of the brightest minds on the planet, all of whom were actually speaking his language. First and foremost among those select few was Bruce Banner, a certified genius who impressed not only with his seven PhDs and laid-back attitude but also with the ability to deal with a bit of snark. When asked about his big green alter ego, that he called "the other guy" and the media had creatively dubbed "Hulk", he'd just grinned sheepishly and said he had a handle on it.

As the base of a secret government agency was hardly the most stress-free environment, it was likely the doctor was doing Pilates or yoga or some good old-fashioned weed, because he had yet to change color. But turning mean and green wasn't what Banner was here for, anyway; as a specialist in the field of radiation, he was supposed to help locate the missing Tesseract.

Three days into their search they hadn't made any headway but Tony would now freely admit to having a serious intellectual crush on his fellow consultant. It hadn't taken him long to suggest to Brucie that he could move into Stark Tower, if he wasn't in too great a hurry to return to India.

To that end, he kept sprinkling data on his ten R&D floors into each of their conversations, as though he was trying to sell the place. Luckily, his science buddy didn't seem to mind the shameless self-promotion; he even threw in his own complaints about what he felt was missing from his old lab at Culver University.

Not that they weren't also trying to do the work they'd been hired for, though that had looked much easier on first glance than it turned out to be. Despite that the IQ of the people SHIELD had assembled could rival that of a small town, they hadn't yet managed to find the pretty blue cube.

The most popular theory to justify their failure was that the thing emitted a kind of energy similar to Gamma radiation, that was just different enough not to be picked up by their highly sensitive sensors. Another possibility was that deliberate interference or cleverly positioned shielding stopped them from zeroing in on it, which would apply a greater level of sophistication and know-how to the mysterious thief than anyone was comfortable with.

Tony's idea, that the Tesseract just didn't _want_ to be found, did not gain general approval, likely because it forced them to consider that an inanimate object could inhabit even some rudimentary sentience. To him, that would at least explain why the thing had stayed stubbornly inactive since it had plunged into the Arctic Ocean, almost seventy years ago.

Maybe it didn't like being used for nefarious purposes.

He had not the faintest idea what Fury's purpose for the cube _was_; he only knew that the claim of SHIELD trying their hand at clean energy was bullshit. They already got most of that from Stark Industries.

Equally nebulous was the exact number of people who were involved in this project. The proper agents needed to pass a certain clearance threshold before they were even allowed into the labs, but he'd met several "civilians" here, as well. Like Erik Selvig, who'd been a colleague of Bruce's once, or Jane Foster, who was adamant about clarifying that she was an astrophysicist and not a treasure hunter. The strangest addition to the search team, though, was Foster's intern Darcy; a very proud politics student, contributing to their efforts through rounds of great coffee and scathing commentary.

The three made for interesting company but they were also the source of an inordinate amount of frustration.

It was not unusual for people in the Science Department to peruse each other's notes, in hopes of stumbling upon that one critical variable missing in their own calculations or simply for a spark of much-needed inspiration. Of course, they all had certain quirks when it came to _taking_ notes; some really overused abbreviations to the point of incomprehensibility, others stuck to technical jargon so hard that it became difficult for anyone not of their specific field to make sense of them. And then there was that one agent who penned all of his records on paper, with an honest-to-god fountain pen, in ridiculously elegant cursive.

With Foster and Selvig the problem wasn't a lack of understanding or annoyingly smug writing, but that one name which kept popping up in the majority of their documents. Regardless of the subject matter that was discussed, there was always this odd aside of "According to Thor" or "as believed by T. Odinson" in the margins, as though they were quoting an expert.

Now, Tony would not deny that he was shit with names. He often forgot the name of a new acquaintance the moment the person left his line of sight and he was prone to addressing people only by the nicknames he'd made up for them in his head.

Still, he was about 85% sure that no one called "Odinson" was working in these labs and the number rose to 99.7% surety that this guy was not a famed icon in scientific circles.

Were he a bit more rational or less sleep-deprived, he might have gone up to the trio and calmly asked them for clarification. As pissed off by the lack of progress as he was, though, it only took another mention of that dreaded name to get him to lose his cool.

"Who the hell is Thor Odinson?" he shouted, loud enough for even the security personnel at the other side of the room to hear.

Banner and he had been working side by side for the last few hours, falling into nerdy banter as they devised the parameters under which SHIELD's satellites performed their worldwide search for the illusive Tesseract. But now the other man's fingers stilled over the not half-bad holographic interface, and the look he gave the engineer conveyed a level of disbelief akin to him having blanked on the existence of Einstein.

"You don't know?" he asked, implying that he himself did and, judging by how the whole room full of scientists started to mutter and exchange conspiratorial glances, so did everyone else.

Which meant, Tony was the last one not in on the joke. Awesome.

That any kind of secret had managed to survive the three days they'd all been cooped up together was kind of incredible, in and of itself. But he supposed he could have uncovered it long ago, if he'd implemented the virus that he'd written to infiltrate the Triskelion's systems. Something to keep in mind for later.

At the moment, he just tried to not make more of an idiot of himself by quietly and casually wondering, "Is he _that_ big of a deal?"

He was at all times aware of the other contenders for the top spot on the Fortune 500 but Odinson could very well be a member of European royalty or Fury's secret lovechild.

His fellow genius didn't help clear up which possibility was the most likely, because all he said in reply was, "Eh, I've only met him once, so I'm not really an authority on the man." With the hem of his shirt he was cleaning his glasses, his eyes level with Tony's chest. He looked and sounded uncertain, as he tended to when a conversation moved away from science. "But I can tell you, he left quite the impression."

Huh, that was needlessly vague, and just intriguing enough to get him hooked. So that, when his new buddy told him, "You'll understand when you see him. As far as I've heard, he visits at least twice a week, which means he should come around sometime today or tomorrow," he was honestly looking forward to that encounter.

Recalling his own busy schedule made him question that mystery man's work ethic, though.

"I didn't think spies had so much free time." Smirking, Tony gave a one-finger salute to a passing agent, which had the hoped-for effect of making Brucie smile.

"That's because he isn't one. He's more like an independent contractor." Another consultant, how neat. Did SHIELD even have actual personnel on payroll? Besides Coulson, that is.

"And I believe the main reason he comes by that often is that his girlfriend works here," Banner elaborated, nodding his head in the direction of a certain brunet astrophysicist.

And that finally explained the awkward reactions of everyone around him. Because Thor Odinson wasn't any kind of celebrity but the source of office gossip.

The people at SI were usually relaxed around him but even they would not have felt comfortable to share stories of their love life with their boss. Not that he would have asked for that. But _this_ rumor mill he would milk for all that it was worth.

Time well spent, he thought, when Nick was paying him by the hour.

.........

So, here is what he found out, after only a minimal amount of digging: Thor was a very tall blond with "dreamy" blue eyes, fit like a bodybuilder and polite to a tee. He was also, and this the guys and gals he'd needled for intel had lamented, completely devoted to Dr. Jane Foster.

Unfortunately, since the most talkative of the Triskelion's staff seemed to have the lowest security clearance, none of them could tell him who exactly Odinson was or what he was doing for SHIELD. When he'd tried to put the same questions before for higher-ups, they seriously claimed his own level wasn't high enough to receive such "sensitive information".

Yeah, because that didn't encourage him to snoop around more, at all.

Bruce proved to be pretty accurate when he predicted the man's next visit, though, so that drastic measures – i.e. smuggling JARVIS into the servers – did not have to be taken. 

The real item did and did not live up to the image Tony had created of him in his mind.

At more than six feet, he towered over almost anyone else in the room and it appeared that even his muscles had muscles. But he was neither the perfect Adonis that women would fawn over nor the burly thug that could have impressed the professional assassins.

He looked, for lack of a better description, like a futuristic surfer dude. The gold-blond hair was long enough to be tied into little braids behind his ears; he wore a sort of casual bulletproof vest that seemed both impractical and expensive, topped off by a flowing red cape - an eclectic mix that got all the weirder when he called out a cheerful "Greetings, all", like a cosplayer at a Renascence fair.

On the other hand, the gossip mill was definitely on point in regards to the romance. The moment he had walked into the lab, Thor's full attention was on his girlfriend and when she turned away from her work to greet him, his lips pulled up into that type of smile that would have earned him a sentimental "aww" from Pepper, had he been a character on TV.

"'Tis good to see you, my dear Jane," he said, taking both of her hands in his.

Foster grinned back at him, though her voice was forceful when she replied, "You're late." Properly chastened the big blond was grasping for excuses, but the physicist beat him to it. "I know, I know; you were busy. It's OK; we didn't miss dinner reservations or anything. I've learned my lesson there."

Oh, so they were still at _that_ stage of their relationship. No wonder that they were acting so cutesy.

Tony was glad that he and Pep had gone straight from friendship to coupledom and skipped all that awkward stuff in-between. Most of their "dates" consisted of them sitting on the couch, where she poked holes in the latest contracts and he fiddled with the code of one project or another; both of them counting it a successes if they didn't fall asleep before the end of the movie that had been playing in the background.

God, he was getting old.

When the two sweethearts had recovered from their week-long separation and Odinson had chatted some with the rest of the strange trio, with whom he was obviously close as well, he was steered over to the new kid in class.

The intern happily introduced them to each other, "Mr. Stark, this is Thor. Thor, buddy, this is Tony Stark."

"I am pleased to finally met you; Darcy has told me much of you."

Yeah, he'd bet she had. Lewis had made no secret of being a fan of his, though mostly of the tech he had invented and not of the Iron Man gig, which was honestly refreshing. While she looked ready to kick her friend in the shin now, for embarrassing her, she'd literally squealed when he had handed her a Starkphone prototype for testing.

To show that he was unfazed by the bit of free PR, he threw the young woman a wink, then held out his hand to Odinson. "Pleasure's all mine, I'm sure." After enduring the handshake for about three seconds, he made a mental note to bring one of the suit's gauntlets for the next meeting, though the other man's grip might be able to dent even that, if he put all of his considerable strength into it.

Damn. That one didn't pass on the protein, did he?

Suppressing a wince, he shoved his mangled fingers into his pants pocket and decided to address the glowing elephant _not _in the room.

"Right; it was about time. Given that you're the expert on the Tesseract and I'm here to find the damn thing."

"To be sure, I will aide you in that task in any way I can. Although I cannot claim to be an expert," Thor admitted, nervously scratching at the back of his neck, seemingly uncomfortable with taking undeserved credit. "The sole reason that I even know of the cube's existence is that it was once in my family's possession."

History was not one of Tony's strong suits, nor really an area he was normally interested in. But as he'd tried to puzzle out where the Tesseract could be right now, he'd thought it could be useful to go backwards a few steps and map its movements in the past, before Howard had gotten his hands on it.

Sadly, the building in which - according to dubious sources - it had been housed for centuries, was no more than rubble paved over by a parking lot, these days.

"Your family wouldn't happen to be the people who kept the thing hidden in a church would they?"

Eyewitnesses at the time had said that everyone in there had been killed when Hydra drove a fucking tank into it, but it stood to reason that some family members further down the line would have carried on with that religious tradition, if what they'd been guarding hadn't been stolen.

What should have served as a perfectly logical conclusion was met by a round of confused faces, Odinson's the most prominent of them all. "A church?" he asked the intern still standing to his right, who quickly offered him a translation for that simple word, in what seemed almost a force of habit.

"My father did, indeed, take the cube to such a place of worship," the blond replied, once the meaning clicked in his head. "That was shortly after the end of the war, when it was deemed too dangerous to remain in the Vault with... other artifacts of similar power."

Eh, that didn't add up. He knew for a fact that the Tesseract had been in that church _before_ the war or the weirdo Red Skull couldn't have nicked it to build weapons of mass incineration with its help. Also, Goldilocks before him couldn't be older than twenty-five and for his dad to have done anything but toddle around a playground, Odinson Sr. would need to be at least in his mid-seventies now. 

Besides the wonky time line, there remained the question of why a random European family owned several powerful artifacts and how they'd stayed under SHIELD's radar for decades.

"I'm missing something here, aren't I? Would one of you guys care to fill me in?" he asked the room at large, hoping that one of those nice people here would overlook his lack of "security clearance".

When Bruce spoke up, he got prepared to be disappointed, because secrets between spies and their consultants were not unexpected but science bros should totally respect each other's right to know all the stuff. Their blossoming friendship was saved by the revelation that they'd both been sitting in the same boat of obliviousness. "Yeah, I'd second that. An explanation would be great."

Thor and his Scooby Gang muttered amongst themselves, like a fraternity discussing the application of a new pledge. Before they could get to any humiliating initiation rituals, though, Dean Coulson came in to ruin their fun.

"So, I'm guessing the cat's out of the bag," he said drily.

_Was he spying on the spies?_ Tony wondered, as that entrance had been timed way too well. He would be interested to know if this had been done by simply watching the live feed of the security cameras or whether there was a mole in the room, who'd pushed an emergency button for potentially dangerous conversations. Frankly, he'd not be surprised by either option.

Whichever method he had used, Agent still needed someone to confirm his assumption, which the group left up to Selvig.

"Not quite yet," the grey-haired professor replied, with a rueful look at his former colleague.

"Do you _want_ it to be?"

This was directed at the big blond, whose expression turned weary all of a sudden, his voice far more serious than when he'd been talking of cubes and churches. "That might be for the best."

Which was apparently the only go-ahead that was required.

"OK, then let's do this," Coulson announced, sounding resigned. "Dr. Banner, Mr. Stark, if you would follow me to the briefing room, please." He surveyed the gathering of curious scientists, who'd long ago left their monitors and experiments behind, in order to not miss the show. "The rest of you, get back to work."

About half the people present hastened to obey their boss' order, so they, at least, seemed to depend on SHIELD for their paycheck. Foster and Co. led the procession out of the lab and into the bowels of the Triskelion.

The room they ended up in was a rectangular grey space that looked just as sleep-inducing as those SI used for its board meetings. Strangely, though, it was far more tech-heavy, except for the suspicious lack of cameras.

Selvig took over the briefing, which seemed odd, initially, but made some sense when Lewis let slip that he had written a book about the events he was recounting. And that book would definitely be an awesome read, as long as it was shelved under High Fantasy.

At one point, Tony had to air his fears that he was made the butt of a really creative joke. "I mean, this is a fascinating story, don't get me wrong. But you can't actually prove any of this, can you?"

Then he watched the videos, filmed with a low-resolution phone camera, too clunky looking to have been doctored in some way. The first showed Blondie flying through the sky with his girlfriend in his arms, clouds parting to let them soar through. The second showed the same man disappear in a beam of rainbow light.

So, aliens.

No matter how intensely he stared at Thor, he just couldn't see it. Yeah, the guy was weird and talked as though he'd swallowed the collective works of Shakespeare, but if he'd exchanged his armor for a simple shirt, he still would have passed for an average human.

OK, maybe not _average_ but...

"Any reason why you couldn't have told me all of this when you barged into my tower?" he asked the agent, waving a hand at the video that had been paused on an image of, what the professor called, the Bifröst. It was rare that he was the least informed of any group and he couldn't say that he enjoyed the experience.

In answer, Coulson, the smug bastard, threw the fucking rule book at him. "This information is shared strictly on a need-to-know basis."

"Then why tell us at all?" Brucie wanted to know, his tone irritated enough to make the spy visibly nervous.

To cover up this lapse in the cool facade, the other man straightened his tie and brushed invisible lint from his suit; his reply clipped and formal. "It is for Thor to decide whom he reveals his identity to."

Meaning, he hadn't felt like arguing with the godly alien prince.

And it was said alien who promptly interjected, "I mind not that you know, if that knowledge helps you in finding the cube. Yet it has been five days."

Tony might have taken the disappointment in the blonde's voice personal, had he missed that edge of concern that was also visible on his face. The Tesseract was dangerous and any day that it stayed lost was one day too many.

Which the son of the man who'd once brought it to Earth had to be aware of, better than anybody.

"I do believe it would be wise to ask Loki for aid," he admitted gravely, as though it were a matter of last resorts. Maybe it was, depending on who and what "Loki" turned out to be.

"Would he know anything of the Tesseract, though, if it was housed on Asgard before it came to Earth?" Dr. Foster asked him, one of her hands linked with his. The two lovebirds were sitting next two each other at the oval conference table, barely an inch of space left between their chairs.

He should try that with Pepper during the next board meeting; the PDA would likely get the old, conservative bores out his hair much quicker than any snarky comment.

"Well, unlike me, he is a scholar and it would not surprise me if he has studied even that which he ought not have."

Ooh, so Loki was an alien scientist. Also, apparently, a bit of a rule breaker. 

That had potential.

Leave it to Coulson to ruin his future fun, too. "I thought it would be difficult to get him here," he pointed out, though that seemed a silly argument.

What, did the alien highway not pass by that particular house?

"Difficult, yes," Thor agreed, then blew that objection right out of the water. "But not impossible. And I stand by what I told your director; this theft was accomplished through magical means. As Loki is one of the most powerful mages in the Nine, he will have a greater chance at finding the cube than any of us."

Aliens and wizards and magic.

Huh. Was this what he'd signed up for when he became Iron Man? Maybe he should start reading the fine print. It might be prudent to check that he hadn't accidentally agreed to believe in fairies, too.

.........

A few hours later he was standing on the roof of the headquarters of a secret spy agency, waiting for the first alien to return from his trip to another planet from which he was fetching the second alien. As one did.

Because his fellow consultant was chatting up Selvig for details on mythological space travel, Tony turned to the other physicist, thinking to pick her brain on this whole Star Wars parody they'd found themselves in.

"This is weird," he said, matter-of-fact, then considered that she might not agree. "_Is_ it still weird to you?" With both hands in his pockets, he tried for casual, while secretly feeling as if he'd had one martini too much. "You're probably on old hat at this 'waiting for E.T.' thing by now, heh?"

She rolled her eyes at the reference. "Well, I've had a year to get used to this." Here she grinned to herself, probably because she was reminded of that first, important anniversary. "I don't think it will ever be normal to me, though."

Yeah, nothing about this was normal.

Tony was hardly a paragon or normalcy and usually he loved the excitement of a new discovery. But, maybe for no other reason than this wasn't something that he had discovered himself but had unwittingly stumbled into, he found that he couldn't quite wrap his head around the craziness. It was the difference between living through a catastrophe and hearing about it later.

Seriously, if he had read the headline "Billionaire builds flying suit of armor in a cave" he would have thought it a poor April Fool's joke.

Having seen the cute couple with his own eyes was probably what made the intergalactic relationship the most plausible part of the story.

"Just out of curiosity - 'cause, you know, I'm no longer on the market-" And, wow, he'd never imagined it would feel so great to say that. "-but, is it difficult to date an alien?"

A question that was, for sure, considered too personal, given that he had only known Foster for three days. But, come on, who else could he ask about this?

Fortunately, the brilliant brunette didn't react with outrage. Though she seemed to have to think about it for a few moments.

"Hm, I don't know. It certainly gives 'long distant relationship' a new meaning, when you're literally light years apart," she said with a touch of sarcasm, while looking wistfully at the sky as though she could spot the star belonging to her boyfriend's home planet. "We're making it work, though. And Thor... he's chivalrous to a fault and at the same time he can have some pretty old-fashioned ideas. But, really, he's not that different from other men I've met."

Right, and he could imagine that the two of them walking hand in hand along a New York street would draw fewer eyes than the CEO of Stark Industries and her chief engineer.

And that was, precisely, what was freaking Tony out.

The thought that there was no intelligent life outside of Earth was arrogant and far from logical, in his opinion. However, as NASA had yet to even find single-celled organisms or so much as the remains of something that had once been alive on any other planet in the Milky Way, it shouldn't have been possible to meet a bi-pedal, English speaking, humanoid in this century.

Somehow, it would have been easier to accept if Thor had sported two heads or a pair of sparkly wings.

Not that he needed either man to conform to popular Sci-fi tropes, but was it too much to to hope for that Loki, at least, would turn out to be more extra than terrestrial?

The universe, mindful of his growing impatience, did him a solid, for once, by finally delivering the object of his curiosity right to his doorstep. Or, well, to the roof, in a plane.

The clunky thing that SHIELD called a Quinjet plunked down on the small landing pad and was immediately surrounded by scientists and agents alike. Even Jane left his side, only for Thor to take her place.

Together they watched a touching reunion, right out of a Hallmark movie.

Now, jealousy was a stupid macho attitude that Tony had never subscribed to. Mostly because he'd rarely cared about a partner enough to get into a hissy fit, if he saw them with someone else. But even when it came to Pepper, he would like to believe he could deal with her having male friends. And if she should ever leave him for another man, he did not doubt that would be entirely on him.

The alien prince, with his "old-fashioned ideas", might have more of a problem with a potential rival for his girlfriend's affections, however.

"Are you OK with them being that... close?" he asked, just as Foster disentangled herself from the enthusiastic hug she shared with a tall, black-haired guy who, instead of looking as though he'd come from outer space, seemed to have stepped right off a _Lord of the Rings_ set.

To his surprise, Thor responded with a hearty laugh. "Do you think I ought to be concerned?" he remarked, and clearly wasn't. "There is love between Jane and Loki, I am well aware. But no more than there is between her and Erik."

Ah, another pair of science bros; that was nice. And good on Hercules here, for not being a possessive douche.

Though, when he heard a high-pitched shriek, followed by a blur of a girl that only came to a stop the moment it impacted with Loki's chest, he decided he had simply put his money on the wrong horse.

"So, _these_ two are...?" Tony cocked his head in the direction of the other alien who had lifted Lewis up into his arms, her legs slung around his waist.

"Brother and sister, or near enough," Odinson said, slightly defensive. "It is only a matter of time before one of them adopts the other, though Laufey may object to giving up his son."

Did family greet one another that passionately? Well, maybe the functioning kind did; not that he would be able to judge.

As she had done with Thor, the intern dragged her friend along to greet the newcomers. Or would have, had Loki not gotten his comment out first.

"Say, who is this rude fellow and why is he so interested in my romantic life?" The question had been posed almost nonchalantly but mixed in was a hint of irritation, which let on that he might not be a big fan of gossip.

Up close, the man looked to be even taller; the black leather pants were a tight fit on his lean body, the long braid snaked its way over the small of his back. A pair of grass-green eyes bore into Tony with the intensity and heat of a repulsor beam.

Decades at the helm of his own company had given him lots of practice in putting stuck-up business tycoons and politicians in their place; likewise, Afghanistan had made him practically immune to intimidation. That kind of experience was what had him meet the green glare with a cheeky grin and the usual sales pitch.

"Hi, I'm Tony Stark, genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. And, to be honest, I'm not at all interested in whom you're hooking up with, but maybe you could tell me how it is that every alien I've met so far has been white."

"Oh my god, Mr. Stark, you can't just ask people why they're white!"

Would it be seen has a bad business practice if he stole employees from SHIELD? Because, though he'd never gotten the point of an intern before, now he kinda wanted one.

While it was doubtful that Rock of Ages had understood the reference, he clearly shared his friend's sense of humor. The shark-like smile was accompanied by a single raised eyebrow, his voice teasing as he said, "You are taking issue with my appearance, yes? Now, _that_ can be remedied." He took one long breath and then...

Damn, Tony prayed to any god that would listen, that someone was taping this, because he wouldn't have been able to describe it accurately afterwards.

But, put simply, Loki changed color. It looked as if a bucket of paint had been poured out over his head; trickling from there to his shoulders and even to his, now naked, feet. In the span of one minute he had switched from pale skin to deep blue. And that was not the only notable difference.

Symmetric lines of a lighter shade of blue covered his body; he had traded his leather getup for a silver skirt that reached to his knees, and nothing else. The eyes that stared at the bewildered engineer, with the same intensity as before, were a dark red.

Holy shit, the guy really was an alien.

Sure, thinking that this whole day had been no more than a giant prank pulled on him, required an unhealthy dose of paranoia. But, as it was often with things too weird to be believed, he had needed to stare it right in the face in order to drop his skepticism.

Now, though, he was definitely a believer.

"OK, that is more like it. I totally dig the Avatar look, but I hope you realize that you've just opened a can of worms."

He slung an arm around one blue shoulder - which was a similar sensation to plunging one's hand into a bowl of ice cubes, though he did not let that curb his enthusiasm - and led Loki toward the lab, where he hoped to get some serious science done.

"I have about a bazillion questions, starting with - How the hell did you do that? And, can you turn purple or orange, too? Also, is that normal for your people or are you just super special?"

As he continued to babble at the space wizard, who regarded him with the sort of limitless patience reserved for parents of small children, he admitted to himself that he owed Agent a big thank you, for interrupting his day off. This definitely beat watching another rom-com.

And maybe he could accept that Tony Stark had not been recommended for the Avengers Initiative, but he would get out the big guns if Fury thought to pull him off the Tesseract search.

Because a normal life was _so_ overrated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some short notes for this chapter:
> 
> The timing of the first scene with Pepper is a few days ahead that of the movie, because I thought it would be too coincidental to happen on the same day and also because I didn't just want to rehash the whole movie dialogue.
> 
> The reason why Tony and Bruce are kept in the dark about Thor's identity here is that I thought this would have been standard practice at SHIELD, under normal circumstances. In the movie, Fury had declared a state of war when Loki attacked, but that didn't happen here, so everything is still kept confidential.
> 
> How the Tesseract had originally made it to Earth wasn't explained in the MCU, but given that it had been housed in a church that displayed the World Tree and some pretty Nordic imagery, I imagine that the place had once been a temple and that Odin had hidden it there for safekeeping.  
Is anyone surprised that the Allfather never checked if the cube stayed save over the centuries? No? Didn't think so. ;)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this first Tony chapter. I definitely enjoyed writing him.  
But, just for the record, this story won't feature any Frostiron.  
It is one of my favorite ships, but as I've decided to keep the series mostly Gen, you will have to get your fix from other writers. ;)
> 
> Thank you for reading my musings. I'm looking forward to your comments and promise to answer each one of them.
> 
> See you next chapter!


	3. Ten bucks well spent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How do you handle it, when you wake up from a plane crash, almost seventy years in the future?  
He isn't so sure that he's found the answer to that yet but he's glad that he might soon be part of a team again. And that, among that group of heroes, his story is, by far, not the strangest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!  
Again we embark on a new chapter with a brand new POV.  
This one was much more difficult than expected, because while I do like Steve a lot, I haven't really read anything with him as a main character.  
I hope that the good captain didn't end up too OOC, as a result.  
But, of course, I might get better with practice and with the help of your comments.  
Though, before you can deliver your well-meant criticism, you'll have to read the chapter first.
> 
> So, without further ado, have a fun read!

.........

SR

.........

_"I gotta put her in the water."_

_In front of him a bank of white clouds filled the whole of the windscreen. It was a breathtaking sight, really; if only he had the chance to enjoy it._

_"Please, don’t do this," Peggy argued with him over the radio, her voice cracking as she went on because she had to know that she wouldn't be able to persuade him. "We have time. We can work it out."_

_They didn't, though; that was the problem. The moment he had seen the bombs he had realized what he would have to do and the damaged controls only cemented his decision. _

_"Right now, I’m in the middle of nowhere. If I wait any longer a lot of people are gonna die. Peggy, this is my choice." _

_It was, yes; no one had ordered him to make this sacrifice but his own conscience. Still, as he steered the plane towards the vast blue ocean, he couldn't help feeling afraid. As a way to not focus on his fear and so that the deathly blue wouldn't be the last thing he'd see, he placed his standard issue compass with the filched photograph on the broken navigation console._

_"Peggy?" he called out, to the only person left in his world, worried that the communications had cut out or that she had gone._

_Relief flooded his chest when she finally answered him, with quiet, "I’m here." _

_"I’m gonna need a rain check on that dance." _

_It was a poor joke, that, and maybe not the most comforting thing he could have said. But he couldn't let the last words between them be strictly professional and without even a hint of hope._

_Peggy must have thought along the same lines, because she replied, "Alright. A week, next Saturday, at the Stork Club," her voice watery yet firm._

_"You got it," he agreed, though they both knew this was an empty promise. _

_Even if he should be able to survive the impact – and he wasn't too sure he would -, it was fairly likely that he'd freeze to death before anyone found him out here. _

_That didn't stop them from making plans for the future; for the one in a million chance that he would get out of this alive. _

_"Eight o’clock on the dot. Don’t you dare be late. Understood?" _

_"You know, I still don’t know how to dance," he admitted with a heavy heart. _

_There were a lot of things he hadn't done, that he'd always thought there would be time for, after the war. Like telling a certain woman what he felt for her._

_"I’ll show you how. Just be there." _

_She sounded desperate, close to breaking and he wanted so much to hold her. Instead, he continued their banter, so that she would not be forced to carry his pain, as well._

_"We’ll have the band play something slow. I’d hate to step on your…"_

_The crash knocked the breath from his lungs; water rushed into the plane through the broken windows. The cold was so biting that he thought it was going to stop his heart right then and there, but it beat on for long enough to grant him one last look at the blue all around, at a mission accomplished._

_........._

The dream was always the same; most nights he woke from it with his lungs burning, frantically trying to take in air through panicked gasps. On bad days he forgot what had happened after his plane went down, which prompted him to strain his ears in search of a voice that was no longer there. On good days he didn't dream at all.

Going to bed completely exhausted helped, though getting to that point was harder now than it had been before the serum. To that end, he was grateful for the gym, installed in the basement of the SHIELD base he was sequestered in for his "recovery".

The gym was usually empty in the early hours of the morning, and Steve preferred it that way. Honestly, he did not mind it when the people he met thanked him for his service but he didn't think he deserved half the praise they were showering on him. He had just done what any good soldier would have, in that situation. To him, the men and women he had fought alongside, who had fought on after he had been declared MIA, were the true heroes.

Reading their files had been hard, but he had forced himself to go through every single one; of those who'd made it and those who hadn't. It had come as a surprise that he wasn't the only left, though he feared if he visited Dugan now, he might give the other man a heart attack.

And Peggy...

No, best not to go there. Not yet.

One of the bolder agents on base had asked him if he was happy to have been fished out of the ice, which had been a difficult question to answer. Of course, he was grateful that he hadn't just been forgotten like a relic of a faraway past and he was well aware that few people ever received a second shot at live. Trouble was, that he didn't quite know what to do with it.

The doctors here had cleared him for active duty about a week ago, but what good did that do him, with the war at an end? Sadly, as he had learned from reading the paper, there were always new wars popping up, to replace the old.

SHIELD didn't want him to join the troops overseas, though; no, he was made for something greater. The parameters for this "greater thing" had changed over the years; in _his_ time, a war had been enough. What he was held in reserve for, he didn't have a clue, and there seemed to be no rush to brief him on it.

While he waited for a mission that might never come, he tried to adjust to his new situation, to become familiar with the world he had woken up in. Which was harder than he would have imagined, because there was just too much he had missed, too many years that had slipped him by. Sixty-Seven, to be exact.

And, frankly, he didn't know where to start.

However, as anyone who had ever met him could attest, Steve didn't know how to back down from a fight. So, he struggled through this, tackling books and movies about those missing years – one historic moment at a time –, to maybe arrive at the present day in another decade.

He was in the middle of watching a documentary on the Civil Rights Movement, when a sharp knock on the door brought him back to the here and now.

The man who stepped in was one of those, who always got tongue-tied around him, as though he were facing a court martial.

"Captain... Er, Captain Amer... Rogers, Sir..."

Gosh, had _he _ever been such a nervous mess in front of a superior officer? Colonel Phillips might have preferred that, to his usual straight-shooting.

"Yes?" he prompted, trying to get the man to move past the stammering. "Is there something I can help you with, Agent?"

As it seemed he wouldn't get back to his catching up any time soon, he walked over to the television and shut it off, not bothering with the complicated remote control.

"Um, yeah, Director Fury would like a word with you."

Finally!

Nick Fury and he had met several times during his months of convalescence, mostly, he thought, because the commander of SHIELD felt it necessary to check up on his state of mind. But, in these meetings, he had received reassurances, as well, that he could come out of "retirement" if he chose to. All it took for him to do just that was the right cause to fight for.

"OK, then. Lead the way."

They moved through, by now, familiar hallways, and up a flight of stairs, to reach an office small enough to double as a broom closet. As the door was opened for him by the other agent, he could see that Fury was leaning over something on his desk; when he looked up from it, he met Steve with a grim expression on his face.

"Sir," he said respectfully; standing at parade rest, more out of habit then because it was expected of him.

"Captain, come on in," the director ordered and, not being one to waste his words on polite chitchat, he cut right to the chase, "I've got an assignment for you, if you're up for it."

Despite having hoped to hear words to that extent, he could not help but feel apprehensive as an open folder was pushed toward him. His instincts turned out to have been on the mark, because what he was greeted with was nothing other than the Tesseract.

When he'd first woken up, SHIELD had put on a big charade to convince him that he had slept for no more than a few weeks, instead of years. It had been necessary, they told him later, to avoid him going into shock. Though, really, his survival had been the greater surprise.

Now, face to face with a weapon he kept seeing in his nightmares - even if it was only a picture of the thing itself - he wished that he hadn't insisted that they stop handling him with kid-gloves.

Fury was not nearly so considerate, but he must have picked up on Steve's hitched breathing and the hands that shook at his sides until he balled them into fists, and that he commented on neither was more than enough.

"Howard Stark fished that out of the ocean when he was looking for you," he offered as an explanation for the picture. "He thought what we think: The Tesseract could be the key to unlimited sustainable energy; that's something the world sorely needs."

Unlimited energy; yeah, they weren't wrong on that count. He could still vividly remember the guns powered by that energy, which had turned anything they hit into dust. And he remembered Schmidt, being burned alive as he held the blue cube in his hands.

"My advice: you should have left it in the water. The thing is too dangerous to play with."

It was what he would have told Howard, if the man himself were here. And, just as it would have been with the eccentric inventor, the director looked not in the mood to listen.

"That wasn't an option", the other man replied, dismissing his concerns as carelessly as expected. "Besides, seems we're out of danger right now, 'cause we don't have it."

Steve could do nothing but stare at the image with a growing sense of alarm.

"It was stolen from one of our secure facilities, and believe me, Captain, I'm not any happier about that than you are."

Great. Apparently, history really _did_ repeat itself. He didn't know where Hydra had gotten the Tesseract from originally, though he doubted whoever had owned it before had handed it over willingly. But it was the constricting feeling in his chest, at knowing that the person who had the cube _now _had to be stopped before they could use it, that made him think he had gone back in time.

"So, who took it from you?" he asked, dreading to hear a familiar name, though that was almost impossible.

"We don't know, yet. But I've put a group of specialists on the thief's trail."

That was a relief, because no matter how much he had gained through Erskine's help, that experiment hadn't suddenly turned him into an expert sleuth. He had not been bad at orienting himself on a battlefield, but at the moment he would have trouble enough with finding his way around his old neighborhood in Brooklyn.

"Once we find the bastard, that's where you come in," Fury went on, reaching into a desk drawer to pull out a flat, rectangular device that he then held out to Steve. "All my sources agree that we're dealing with a person who packs more of a punch than the average human."

Ah, so he was meant to hunt after another Red Skull.

His lack of enthusiasm at that prospect had probably been easy to read on his face, as the director was quick to add,

"Don't worry; I won't sent you out alone. You can read up on the people you'll be working with, on there." With one finger he tapped on the thing that he'd handed over, lighting up a screen and revealing it to be a sort of computer. Huh, who knew they came in that size? "They're a bit of a strange lot, but they might be just what we need against this unknown threat."

"Strange how?" he wondered, thinking of the soldiers who'd been part of his unit. "I can't imagine a weirder mix than the Howling Commandos."

Anther tap on the screen showed the picture of a blond man, grinning brightly into the camera, holding what looked like an oversized hammer aloft.

"Ten bucks says, you're wrong," SHIELD's commander said with a telling smirk; that and his acerbic tone made clear this was a bet Steve was sure to lose. 

If true, this could be both, good or bad for the mission. But, at least, with a team that unusual, he wasn't likely to be reminded of anything from before.

.........

Tony Stark was the first of his new teammates that he met in person.

The man's father had been a genius, far ahead of anyone in the twentieth century, and a true patriot, without a doubt. Also, a bit of a ladies' man, which meant that Steve wasn't too scandalized by the younger Stark's "playboy" image.

Though, he had to admit to have been disappointed to learn of the weapons business and its owner, branded "The Merchant of Death". This world was chaotic and violent enough without some immature genius carelessly adding to it. Supposedly, he was doing good now; flying around in his self-made metal suit to chase after criminals. The list of Iron Man's deeds, that his SHIELD file recorded chronologically, read more like the attempt of a spoiled, rich kid to play at war than the actions of a hero.

Meeting him did nothing to change that impression.

Together with Phil Coulson, Steve was flown to Washington D.C. on the morning after he had received his assignment. During the flight he tried not to feel too uncomfortable as Coulson was going on and on about Captain America, his collection of comic books and trading cards. In his days on the USO tour, he had gotten used to fans wanting their picture taken with him or for him to sign all sorts of memorabilia.

That didn't mean he had expected to be turned into some icon, taught about in history books.

"Do you really think I'm the right man for this job?" he asked the agent, as he paced back and forth between him and the pilot's seat. "If the SSR continued their work after the war, there's got to be others who are..."

Younger? While his birth certificate would show him to be in his 90ties now, he didn't feel a day over twenty-seven, so that wasn't a good argument. More experienced, maybe. Though, even if the agency had hired more war veterans, he prayed none of them had to go through what he had. What did he think he was missing, then? Well, given the people SHIELD had recruited recently, he wasn't all that special, anymore.

"... better than a science experiment with a shield," he finished, weakly.

"You're worried about keeping up with the Norse god and the green giant, hm?" Coulson guessed; correctly, at that. "Captain, we both know, what made you a hero had nothing to do with the powers the serum gave you."

This was said so earnestly and with so much conviction that it was hard to find a half-way sensible response. "I hope the same is true for my teammates," he said, in the end, because he, too, believed that there was more to a good soldier than big muscles and fancy weapons.

The rest of the flight went by in silence and in what seemed like minutes. Planes, as everything else, had seen some great advancements since he'd gone under.

At the Triskelion he was immediately steered away from the entrance floor and toward a less crowded hallway, as though SHIELD preferred that even its agents didn't know he was here. Director Fury had warned him that they hadn't made his return to the land of the living public yet, which he agreed was a smart move. An announcement like that would only distract from what was important and it might put the Tesseract's thief on alert, if they were in any way connected to Hydra.

The office he was led to was much roomier than the one in the other base, though it also had only one occupant. A man who didn't even give Coulson the chance to make introductions before firing off a scathing comment.

"This is what you hauled me out of the lab for?"

He looked profoundly annoyed, and not as if he were in a hurry to get up from the chair he was sprawling in. In light of that unwelcoming attitude, Steve guessed it pointless to offer a handshake.

"I thought it might be good for Captain Rogers to see a somewhat familiar face."

A nice enough idea, that could have been helpful to him, if that face weren't busy sneering at him.

"Aw, come on, Agent, " Stark complained, his tone that of a kid trying to argue his way out a visit to the dentist. "I'm nothing like my old man."

"No, you aren't" Steve stated bluntly, unable to hide his disapproval.

_He _looks_ like Howard, though_, he had to concede. The same dark brown eyes, the same tanned skin, a beard of a different style but obviously groomed with the same amount of care. The simple shirt and pants he wore seemed cheap but probably cost more than another person' entire wardrobe.

"Ouch; you wound me, Capsicle," the inventor said, voice drenched in sarcasm. "But, seriously, Agent; what's he doing here? Are you hoping that, because he flung the Tesseract into the ocean, he'll be able to sniff it out like one of those truffle pigs?"

"I didn't fling it out; Schmidt dropped it when it burned him," he argued, only to regret it a second later. What reason did he have to justify himself, after all?

It was then that Coulson came to his defense. "He is here because it's been suggested that the person who took the cube has some kind of superhuman abilities and the captain is best suited to go up against a threat like that."

"Right, and _I'm_ not," Stark interjected, sounding bitter. "And seeing as I'm not invited into your super secret boy band, maybe I should just go back to my _consultation_, hm?"

Beside him, the agent let out a frustrated sigh, arms crossed in front of his chest, but still wearing a polite smile. "This isn't personal," he insisted, calmly.

"No, sure it's not. Just typical." Something in Stark's pocket started to glow; he took it out, frowned at it and preceded to move his thumbs over its surface at breakneck speed, all while continuing to rant. "You let the brain brigade do the actual work before sending out Stars and Stripes there to heroically save the day. It's like those shitty high school PSAs, where the cocky football star bullies the nerd into doing homework for him."

Making sense of what the other man had said was difficult and not only because he talked twice as fast as normal. Considering what he was known for – the fortune he had inherited and raised to unbelievable sums, the prestigious schools he'd attended, the circles he was moving in – Steve could not take his complaints too seriously.

"You've been rich all your live; I can't imagine that you ever had to stand up to bullies," he said, with a good amount of skepticism.

Something close to pain flickered across the billionaire's face before being replaced by a brittle smile. "Yeah, your imagination was definitely not one of your attributes that got chemically enhanced." Pocketing his odd device, Stark got up from his chair and walked past him to the door. "I, for one, have plenty of that and I'll be using it to find that thing you did _not_ drop into the Arctic."

When he was already with one foot over the threshold, he turned his head around and told the agent, "Next time you need me to give emotional support to a senior citizen, fell free to lose my number." He gave a lazy wave and sauntered out of the room, without so much as a goodbye.

That could have gone worse; at least, they hadn't let their fists do the talking for them.

"I'm sorry for that, Captain," Coulson said unhappily, embarrassed for the other man's behavior. "It's no secret that there was little love lost between Mr. Stark and his father; I didn't think that would translate to him resenting _you_, though."

Was that the problem, then? Was _he_ now the one who served as a painful reminder of the past? That was almost ironic.

"He won't refuse to work with me, will he?" he asked, dreading that outcome.

This assignment was the first since he'd woken up, the first time that he'd had something like a purpose again.

"That's doubtful. He can be a bit full of himself but it's good if he sees this as a competition. Because, and I hope you don't mind me saying so, he doesn't know how to give in, any more than you."

So, this would be an uphill battle. Just what he needed.

Snidely he thought to himself that, with that kind of workout, he wouldn't have to request new punching bags any time soon.

.........

In contrast to that near disaster, his meeting with Bruce Banner did go over better than expected.

After a lengthy tour through the many floors of SHIELD's headquarters, Steve and Coulson eventually arrived at the mess hall, filled to the brim with agents taking a break. At a table all by himself sat a short, curly-haired man, who kept nervously looking around himself, as though he wasn't too comfortable in a crowd.

He'd been a few years younger in his most recent photo, but was still easily recognizable.

"Dr. Banner," Steve said, when he had approached the man's table. His helpful guide discreetly moved over to the other side of the large room, engaging some of his colleagues in a chat, so that the two of them could talk on their own. Which was tactful of him but probably also a calculated maneuver, to avoid the same mistakes he'd made with Stark.

The scientist looked up, confusion giving way to understanding as he, too, managed to match a familiar face to the voice who'd called him. "Oh, yeah, hi," he replied, a bit hesitant. He pushed his chair back and they shook hands, then sat down on opposite sides of the table. "They told me you would be brought in to deal with this Tesseract mess."

Had someone handed out a pamphlet about his arrival? That would explain why none of the people he'd come across had been surprised to see him, despite that Captain America's return was supposed to be a closely held secret. On a positive note, this did save him from too many awkward introductions.

And, thanks to the files he'd been given, he also knew most of the people he was bound to interact with.

"I've heard that you're the best shot we have at finding the cube," he said, trying to sound supportive of the other's efforts and hoping that they wouldn't start off on the wrong foot, as well.

"Eh, I'm not working on that alone, but even as a team we haven't really done much more than thinning out the haystack, yet," Banner admitted ruefully, before fixing him with a curious look. "I doubt that's the only thing that you've heard about me."

Right, there was that unfortunate business with the serum. The doctor had tried to replicate it as, apparently, several people and organizations had, in the past seventy years. Whatever he had come up with, it had included some unforeseen side effects. The footage of how he had decimated Harlem had been more than a little unsettling for a born and bred New Yorker.

"I know you were studying Dr. Erskine's formula," he replied, as diplomatically as he could.

"Yeah, that wasn't exactly my greatest achievement." There was so much self-deprecation in the other man's tone, that Steve felt like a jerk for not just playing ignorant on that topic. "You saw where that led me, didn't you?"

He had seen but he couldn't bring up the same level of criticism, maybe because it had only been on a screen, which had made it seem like he was watching a science fiction movie rather than real life, or because he had now met the man behind the "Hulk". And Bruce Banner was definitely not any kind of monster.

"It wasn't your idea, though; you were working for the US military."

That had been the case for him, too. In no way would he have asked to be turned into a super soldier; all he'd wanted was to serve his country. Joining the SSR's program had been his only option back then, which made him pretty sympathetic to the scientists' situation.

"The university that had hired me had a contract with the Defense Department, yes." Here he took off his glasses and went on to clean them on the hem of his purple button-up. "But injecting myself with the unfinished stuff? That was totally my bad," he confessed; the smile that was tucking at his lips looked like he was making fun at his own expense.

That was the part that struck him as odd. This mild-mannered biologist didn't give off the impression of someone lusting after power, not even the kind that a more able body would have brought with it. And Steve should know, since he'd met his fair share of greedy and selfish people, who would have given their right arm for a just a hint of power over others.

"Why did you do it?"

Maybe that was a too intrusive question to ask a practical stranger, but he got the feeling that Banner _wanted _to talk about this; here in this casual setting, with all of those agents - otherwise walking on tiptoes around him - just going about their lunch.

A mindset that was uncomfortably relatable.

"Well, it wasn't for the extra pounds of muscle, if you can believe that," the brunet began, followed by a dry chuckle. He got more serious again, wringing his hands atop the table, as he talked on, "The sad truth is, I acted out of arrogance, or professional pride, to say it mildly. The DoD was going to shut down the project; too much money; too little to show for it, you know? But I knew I could crack the puzzle if I'd had a little more time. So, on the night we were supposed to clear out, I convinced my..." His breath hitched, he stared in to a long-abandoned coffee mug to his right for half a minute, then picked up where he'd left off.

"...a colleague to power up the machines and put me through the procedure. We hadn't gotten the permission to move on to human trials, yet. And I thought that was one of the reasons it didn't work; that the serum was too much for a lab rat to handle. If I could demonstrate that it worked on me, though, that it had improved me in any way..."

He paused, looking embarrassed and regarding Steve as though he was waiting for scathing commentary as he said, "Instead, I ended up with a split personality and an alternate body that could win a fight against Godzilla. I've read what remained of Erskine's notes; I know what this says about me."

_"The serum amplifies everything that is inside. So, good becomes great, bad becomes worse." _

He remembered that conversation on the night before his own transformation. And he remembered the inhuman appearance of Red Skull. Steve had been chosen because the doctor had been convinced the same thing wouldn't happen to him, on the grounds that he was "a good man."

He couldn't believe, though, that the doctor sitting across from him was hiding some inner evil.

Anyway, there was another aspect to this, one less condemning.

"Dr. Erskine also told me what had been used on Schmidt hadn't been the finished serum, so..."

"... so, the flaw lay in the formula and not in me." Banner grimaced, almost as though he didn't want to believe this. "That... that's nice. Really; I appreciate the more positive spin on this. As a scientist, though, you learn pretty early on that it's damn stupid to experiment on yourself."

Again, he sounded like he was expecting to be judged for his actions. Was this a test of character or was he simply so used to no one ever giving him the benefit of the doubt? In any case, for Steve to pass judgment here would have been awfully hypocritical.

"To be fair, you could say the same thing about me. I stepped into that lab, without fully knowing as what I would step back out."

He had known that he would come out stronger, which was why so many of the other soldiers considered for the project had been eager to be picked. But the consequences of it – that he healed faster than a normal man and yet felt every wound he took just as fiercely; that he had near perfect memory, which made it so very hard to overcome that one nightmare that kept robbing him of sleep; the he would gain the ability to survive against staggering odds, which had him live on into the new millennium – had caught him completely off guard.

"I guess, that means we're both reckless idiots," Banner remarked, displaying his first genuine looking grin.

A moment later, they were both laughing, which must have confused the agents around them to no end.

What stopped them from continuing to make fun of themselves were the footsteps that drew near their table.

"Sorry, to interrupt," Agent Coulson dropped in, looking pleased as punch, "but our guest is about to touch down." This was clearly a message meant for the doctor alone; still, he was so kind to explain, "Loki Laufeyson. He's supposed to help us track down the Tesseract. Hopefully, he is as good at that as he is at getting himself into trouble."

Steve had read _that_ file, too. Most of the information in it had to be made up or, and that was his assumption, coded to hide the man's true identity. There was a good chance he would find out more about this during the briefing that Director Fury had scheduled for the "search and retrieve" team, later in the day.

As to the teammate who had been changed in a similar way to him; he thought they would get along swell. One out of six wasn't ideal, but it was not a bad to start.

.........

He had worried that he would be the last one to arrive, as he'd been delayed in the HR department, where he had received papers and key cards that would allow him to move freely, in SHIELD's headquarters and, he hoped, within the US in general.

Despite his lateness, the meeting seemed not to have started yet. Stark was busy with his - as someone had since helpfully informed Steve – mobile phone; Banner was studying a folder that had been placed before each chair around the conference table. The two others already in the room had to be the agents, Romanov and Barton. Their files had provided the shortest read, as at least half of the information had been blackened out.

Though they had to know who he was, introducing himself was still the polite thing to do.

"Natasha Romanov," replied the red-haired woman, giving him an appraising look. "You arrived here with Coulson, right? Has he asked you to sign is trading cards yet?"

The flush he could feel creeping up his neck was answer enough.

"Aw, don't be so hard on the man, Tasha. He's just a bit stuck in the last century," Barton countered, and it wasn't clear whether he was talking about his fellow agent or someone else present.

After exchanging handshakes with both SHIELD staffers, Steve chose a seat next to the doctor. Just as he was about to ask when the meeting would begin, a booming voice wondered aloud – hopefully not to anyone in here, "I do not know, now, why I ever wanted to kill you, my friend."

"Jealousy," a different, posh voice responded. "Pure jealousy, Odinson. For my looks, my wits, my charming personality."

"Aye, that has to be it," the first one agreed, sarcastically. He was also the first one to enter; big and blond and smiling as wide as he had on his picture. Thor, God of Thunder, presumably named after that particular pagan deity. SHIELD intelligence also listed his status as a "prince", of a place that wasn't on any of the world maps, not even the current ones.

The second prince walked in next; stealthy like a panther, grinning like a wolf, and blue like deep sea water.

So, that part hadn't been put in his file to deflect from important government secrets.

Steve was glad that he had some time to get over the shock, because Laufeyson was greeting the agents as if they were old friends, though more formally than had been normal even in the 40ies.

"Lady Natasha, 'tis wonderful to see you again." With elegant flourish he took her hand in his, bowed down to blow a kiss over knuckles.

"Hi Loki," she said, sounding almost bored. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to wheedle some daggers out of me, with that flattery." She drew her hand back and placed both on her hips, to effectively glare him down.

That seemed to hurt the blue man's feelings.

"Oh, what baseless accusation," he complained, the grin replaced by a sad pout. Though his mood flipped in an instant, and he was smirking impishly as he claimed, "We both know the opposite would be closer to the truth."

"I won't say no, if you're offering," was the blunt reply, that did not become any more appropriate when Agent Barton hollered across the room, "Hey, you two, get a room!"

"A room? Whatever for?" Laufeyson asked, innocently. But even Steve had understood the subtext; not that he approved of that kind of talk in the presence of women.

Ms. Romanov did look outraged at her partner, and actually managed to intimidate him with her cold stare, so that he answered meekly, "Eh, to compare your... blades."

For a good minute the prince held on to his bewildered expression, then he broke into childish giggles that made his red eyes gleam. It was a strange sight, which Steve must have been watching a bit to noticeably, because soon the giggles subsided and he was regarded with a similar level of focus.

"I do not think we have met," Laufeyson half asked and half stated. He cocked his head to the side, clearly awaiting a reply; his face completely unreadable.

Steve felt as he had after the fifth enlistment attempt, like he was about to be arrested. There were probably dozens of laws against gawking at royalty; no matter what place they came from.

"No, we haven't. The name's Steve Rogers, Sir," he said, finally, not letting himself be intimidated but also trying to sound friendly enough to avoid starting an international incident.

Barton throwing in "Also known as Captain America" really didn't help matters.

"A soldier," the other man observed, his voice deepening. "Interesting." He didn't say why he thought so or what made him draw that last word out into twice the normal number of syllables.

There was no time for him to elaborate, anyway, as in in that moment Agent Coulson turned up, the director in tow.

"Ah, we're all here; that's good." After one searching look around the room his eyes fell on the man in blue. "Loki, thank you for coming."

As polite as he had been with the other agents, Loki now inclined his head before replying, "I am glad to be of help."

Fury, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest, looked at the brink of losing his patience, so Coulson swiftly got the introductions out of the way. "This is Nick Fury, director of Shield. Director, this is Loki Laufeyson. Or should I say, _Prince_ Loki now?"

The question was very likely meant as a joke, for all that Laufeyson took it utterly seriously.

"Oh, I really ought to insist," he said, full of regret. Beside him, Odinson was mumbling something unintelligible, in the tone of a disappointed parent, that miraculously changed his attitude. "I kid, I kid. My name will suffice."

_He's earned that "Trickster" alias, alright_, Steve thought. And that he was the "Patron of Mischief" required no further proof, either. SHIELD honestly had hired some unusual people.

"Great that we've cleared that up," the agency's commander declared. He took a seat at the head of the table, everyone else following suit. As Stark had claimed the other end, with Romanov and Barton beside him, the only available chairs next to one another were to Steve's left, so that was where Loki and Thor ended up.

"Let's get this briefing underway, then; we've already wasted too much time."

From the folder placed in front of him he drew the same kind of device that he had stored the potential team's files on. The only difference was that this one looked see-through and that the image it showed could be viewed from all sides.

This century was just incredible, at least to someone not born in it. Though the others appeared not even a little impressed, it was hard not to gape like a fish at this wonder of technology and that was before he fully understood what it was capable of.

"We all know why we're here. Five days ago, an unknown entity broke into a nearby SHIELD facility and stole a valuable weapon. They left no trace of themselves; no fingerprints, not a hair, and they didn't trigger the alarms."

A push of a button switched on the device and another propelled it toward the middle of the table, where it displayed a video - bigger and sharper than that of a television- into the very air.

What was shown were recordings of a security camera, that had to have been positioned in an upper corner of a grey, featureless room. The only thing of interest inside that room was a silver suitcase on top of a small metal shelve. Nothing moved in there; in fact, nothing at all happened, for a good ten minutes, as established by the timer on the bottom of the screen. Then, without warning, the suitcase blinked out of existence.

The camera stayed on the now empty shelve for another minute before the video cut out.

"Stark confirmed that the footage wasn't tampered with," Fury said, nodding his head in the directon of the inventor. "So, what you saw, was all there was."

Steve wasn't sure _what_ he'd seen; there had to have been some trick behind this. No matter the advances he's missed out on, solid objects didn't just vanish on a whim.

"Doesn't have to mean that magic was involved," Stark said apropos of nothing, continuing a conversation that no one had started, at least not here.

Since when was "magic" a possible answer to anything?

To go by the mostly blasé reactions, it wasn't considered unusual to deal with burglars capable of witchcraft. That had to be why Fury thought they would have to go against no "average human".

"What's the alternative, Tony?" Dr. Banner asked, because there obviously couldn't be one.

At this, the other man shrugged, beginning to tick off said alternatives on his fingers. "I dunno. Could be that the thing imploded. Or there's someone who moves faster than the frame rate of the camera or he's hopping in and out of the quantum realm. Or, you know, he could have an invisibility cloak."

These options weren't convincing to anyone, especially not to the two princes.

"Why would one need a _cloak_ to make oneself invisible?" the blond wondered, while the other sneered at that suggestion.

"Hold it, Point Break, don't tell me you can disappear into a puff of smoke!" Stark demanded, in a mix of disbelief and amazement.

"He cannot," Loki said, somewhat aloof; that wolfish smile in evidence, once more. "But _I_ can."

One blue hand snapped together middle finger and thumb and then the man was gone as suddenly as the suitcase in the security video. The scam, and it had to be one, lasted only a few seconds, after which he reappeared, without a hair out of place. "I hope you are not disappointed by the lack of smoke."

"Holy cow, that was awesome!" the eccentric billionaire shouted and he wasn't the only one who seemed astonished. Fortunately. Because Steve might have to start doubting that he could ever fit into this century, if this was the current normal. "Can you explain how you did this, in as many details as possible, please?"

The entire "search" branch of their slapdash team looked poised to take notes; even Coulson was eager enough to pull out pen and paper.

"I reflected the light away from me, so that I could not be seen by others, without simultaneously rendering myself blind," the wizard instructed them, lazily. When he realized that his audience was dissatisfied with that answer he amended, "'Tis not an easy feat; I required a lot of practice until I had mastered this fully. Although, I have experimented with this since early childhood."

"Yes, I remember," Odinson grumbled, sighing in annoyance.

Which, for some unfathomable reason, only made his friend giggle, again.

"OK, fine," Fury said, sternly and loud enough to be heard over the laughter. "People can turn invisible. What else is new?" That scathing question let silence fall on the room, like a warning shot. "But can your highness also make someone see what _isn't_ there?"

He pulled the viewing device to him again, pushing a different set of buttons, to show everyone a different recording.

This was a shot from the outside – two big metal doors and two men in uniform standing before them; guarding what looked like a warehouse.

"I deployed security personnel at every entrance; 24/7, two each, in three shifts. None of them reported a breach on that day, except for them."

With one finger the director pointed at the men in the video, who could be seen talking to one another, for the entire time that they were visible on camera.

"They say that someone came by the facility and demanded to be let in."

On screen, the agents nodded in unison, before one of them drew out a key card from his pocket and the other held the door open.

"I questioned them separately and they both claim they _had_ to let this person pass, because it was _me_," Fury concluded, just as the recording ended, with one man mouthing the word "Sir".

"Hey, Loki, isn't that one of your specialties," Barton called out, wrenching the majority of the attention away from the director and toward the prince, "this 'illusion' stuff?"

Long before he had become Captain America, when he had just been a kid from Brooklyn, he'd had this gym teacher, who had despaired of him. The kind man had tried to get him to do one single handstand, a rare exercise that didn't bring on asthma attacks. But Steve had lacked the strength necessary and at one point the coach had just given up, declaring him a hopeless case.

That defeated expression didn't look any less upsetting on a blue face.

"No, no, no," Laufeyson said, angrily shaking his head. "You are conflating two entirely separate schools of seidr. What I make use of are spells which manipulate the physical world, whereas the thief clearly manipulated these men's minds."

Like a man possessed, he pulled at his long black hair, muttering incoherently to himself all the while. Once he had calmed down, to some extent, he asked his friend Thor, "Do _you_, at least, understand what I mean?" as though his sanity might depend on the answer.

The thunder god rolled his eyes, and replied tersely, "I do, indeed, know the difference between illusions and hallucinations, Loki."

Hearing this, the smile returned to the blue lips, even if it was a bit lackluster. "Oh, very good. I am so proud of you, my young student."

Only the director distinctly clearing his throat could get them back on track after that drama. "Maybe you could dumb it down for us common schmucks," he said, not in a polite way and definitely not phrasing it as a request.

Loki seemed unconcerned by the other man's tone, but he needed some time to think things through. "Hm, how to explain this to mort... to magicless people? I believe I shall simply have to imitate you." He closed his right hand into a fist, when he opened it again a green flame was hovering over his palm.

The wizard – and it slowly dawned on Steve that he really was one – let this flame grow and shrink, dance from one hand to the other like a toy, while he explained, "Let us say, I want to use the image of a specific person, as a means of distraction." Now the flame changed into a man; black-haired, dressed in green and black, a knife in hand. "Tony Stark, be so good and tell me what you see."

Stark, obviously pleased to be picked for this demonstration, proudly professed, "That's you, when you're not being blue."

Because people nowadays could change their skin color, evidently. Was it a sign of him adapting to his new life that he was barely shocked by this, or was he just going as mad as everyone around him?

The still blue lecturer, for one, was happy enough with the reply he'd gotten. "Correct," he said, before lifting up his hand with the little figure on it. "Unless there is something wrong with your eyes, you should all see the same thing." He waited until he received a few affirmative nods, then continued, "That is because an illusion is real. Not solid and easy to dissipate" – Which it did, as he clapped his hands together – "yet as real as the light that is shining down on us from the ceiling."

As if on reflex Steve looked up at the light fixture, and caught Banner beside him doing the same. There was nothing interesting up there but, like with every classic magic trick, it was human nature to fall for the distraction.

"Illusions have some advantages. I can fool all of you at once; to name just the most obvious," Loki went on, his grin wide and mischievous. If he'd been one of those crooked street magicians, he could have robbed all of them blind. Luckily, he was on _their_ side. "The one disadvantage is that I have to know what or whom I mean for you to see, in minute detail, or I run the risk of being found out."

The previous image reappeared, in the man's left hand, but now the hair was shorter, a long green cape was flowing down the figure's back and it was wearing a golden helmet with weirdly curved horns.

"No one who has ever met me would believe this to be Loki Laufeyson."

"Nay, they would likely think you are of Asgard," Thor commented. With his index finger he poked the little helmet on the illusion, saying, "With this you could even join the Einherjar."

Whatever the context of this remark, it made the other prince shudder, and look thoroughly disgusted. "Lord Týr would beg to differ," he argued, letting the image turn back into thin air.

There was no need for the director to put his foot down, this time, as Loki seemed only too happy to change the subject.

"Anyhow, 'tis mind control we ought to concern ourselves with. That is a far trickier art and highly frowned upon among law-abiding mages."

When Agent Romanov, sitting across from him, asked jokingly, "We'll just assume that includes you, yes?" all he did was wink at her, not in the least upset by what that implied.

"Certainly, which is why I believe a demonstration would be in bad taste. I can, however, explain the theory behind it." He looked expectantly at Fury, as if waiting for permission. At the director's "Go ahead" he gave a sharp nod and continued with his lesson. "Like with an illusion, I could employ the scheme of distracting you with an image, though I would not have to ever have laid eyes on what I wish you to see, as I would draw the memory of it from up here."

One slender blue finger tapped at Steve's temple; a blue chest was shaken with silent laughter at his shocked expression. The cold of the man's skin had not been painful but decidedly below room temperature. That couldn't be healthy.

Not that Loki appeared sick in any way. On the contrary, he seemed to be unusually animated and enjoying himself immensely.

"Now, because all of your minds are different, as are your experiences, the image would not be the same for either of you. If I were to, for example, make you envision an old man, asking for directions to the nearest market, _you_"-One sweep of an arm over the part of the table that sat both of the younger agents, Stark and Banner-"would likely see this."

A man appeared before them, on top of the file folders - portly, jolly, with white hair and beard, wearing a Santa Clause hat. That image stayed, even as the next one was conjured up.

"Thor would probably see this."

Another man, this one gray-haired, dressed in golden armor, one eye covered by a golden eye-patch. To add to the regal look, he was holding an imposing golden spear in one hand.

"Loki, that is not funny!" the blond in question bellowed, unceremoniously elbowing his friend in the ribs.

"Apologies," Laufeyson said, wincing and hiding his pain behind a cough.

The image shimmered, then changed into that of another man; his white hair much shorter, his face beardless, his purple clothes a little less ostentatious and he was leaning on a simple wooden walking stick.

"Better?"

When no further complaint followed the wizard smirked; painting one last illusion, this one in front of himself.

"And this might be plucked from _my_ mind."

Naturally, this man was blue, but unlike Loki, he wore a long white robe and his head was bald. Was this the average look on Jotunheim?

"In conclusion," the prince of that place said sagely, "I could still manage to fool all of you, but only as long as you did not compare your impressions with one another. Therefore, I would recommend that you question your guards one more time, Director; to uncover possible discrepancies in their accounts."

Whether Fury would accept that advice wasn't clear, because it was Coulson who took down the notes and asked for more clarification. "Do you know of anyone who can control people's minds like this?"

"Myself included?" he replied, smiling ruefully. "There are several hundred mages powerful enough, throughout the Nine. Yet, if I were to guess, only a handful of them would ever stoop so low. And, no, _I_ have never tried my hand at such invasive magics." He sounded defensive as he assured them of his innocence, his gaze lingering on Thor for the longest time.

The blonde's tone was playful, as he confirmed Loki's story. "I know you have never done this, my friend, or I would not have beaten you in so many battles."

That wasn't the most flattering sort of vindication, though it was better received than Steve would have suspected.

"I will choose to take that as a compliment, shall I?" he inquired impishly.

"To get back to that thief," Fury interrupted, obviously not in the mood for any more distractions, "you say, you know some likely culprits, but could it be someone from _here_?"

Here? As in, the US or SHIELD?

"That is possible," Laufeyson said without hesitation, showing that he, at least, knew what was meant. "The last time I visited this pretty little realm I was unable to sense the presence of other practitioners. However, magic is as abundant as air on each of the worlds upon Yggdrasil. So, the scoundrel could, indeed, hail from your planet."

It took about five minutes for Steve to sift through that strange statement, and that was after he simply dismissed the mythical sounding stuff. Even then, his mind was stuck on the last two words, that put into question everything he was brought up to believe.

"Wait a moment, are you telling me you're not from Earth?"

"Oh my," the blue wizard, the _space alien_, said with pity in his voice, "it seems the good captain is woefully uninformed."

As he had done on that New York street, months ago, Fury quickly and efficiently got him up to speed. The others discreetly filed out of the room, leaving him to his refresher course on beings from other planets and the real identities of Thor and Loki, the thousand-years-old inspirations for Nordic Gods.

Though he did listen intently and tried to absorb as much of the information as possible, his attention was drawn by the little imaginary men left to hover over the surface of the table. He couldn't help but question whether this really was his life now or if he was, in truth, still sleeping deep below the ice of the Arctic Ocean and this was all a dream.

"You were right; this team is much, much weirder than the Commandos," he admitted, after what felt like hours spent in contemplative silence. And he didn't just mean the two aliens, but also the billionaire with his flying suit, the doctor with his green other half and the spies who probably knew more about him than he could hope to learn about them in another seventy years.

Because he was a man of his word, he pulled out his wallet and handed over a ten dollar bill to the director.

The other man pocked the money, though didn't look smug about having won his bet. "Is that a problem?"

Did that matter? Well, he supposed it did, because he could always refuse to work with this team, to come out of retirement. But fact was that nothing would ever be as it had been before he woke up and no one could take him back to that time.

He would have to make the best of his second chance and perhaps it would be easier not to go at it alone.

"No, Sir," Steve replied, effectively deciding to take on this new mission and to take the plunge, as he had a lifetime ago. "I'll just put it on the list of things of the year 2012 that I need to get used to."

And maybe he should jot down that list somewhere, so that he wouldn't forget what he'd lost and what he'd gained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter didn't really have any world building elements, except for Loki's magic lesson.  
But I should mention, to avoid future law suites, that the first scene, as well as some of the dialogue, was taken word for word from the first _Captain America_ and _Avengers_ movies.
> 
> As fans, we probably all know these scenes by heart. The reason I included them here was that I thought them so quintessential of Steve's character. That last moment with Peggy is always in the back of his mind but the conversation with Fury offers him a way forward.
> 
> I thought long and hard on whether or not to get into the rivalry between Steve and Tony, because I really don't like how that divided the fandom. Honestly, all those "Steve bashing" or "Not Team Stark friendly" tags make me incredibly sad.  
But, as I decided with Loki and Thor's conflict, you first have to show the bad moments before you can make them grow as people. So, there will be some more childish arguments in future chapters, but I vehemently refuse to pick sides.
> 
> Our hunt for new POVs will continue, next time with Dr, not that kind of doctor, Banner.  
I'm looking forward to that writing challenge and to your lovely comments.  
Thanks for your time and patience.
> 
> See you next chapter!


	4. Seven PhDs can't prepare for this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Staying in hiding is not so easily done when your alter ego is a green giant full of rage. It gets even harder when you have a bunch of spies on your tail. Bur for Bruce this might not be quite so bad because he gets to make new friends, learn about magic of all things and meet a pair of aliens. And then things kinda go to hell in a hand-basket which, given his normal track-record, shouldn't surprise him anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!  
Another chapter long in the making, but now it's finally here.  
This is the last new POV I had yet to introduce. For now, at least.  
I will try my best to squeeze in one more chapter this year, but just in case that I don't manage it (which would surprise exactly no one) I shall use this space to wish you all Happy Holidays and a wonderful New Year!
> 
> Thank you so much for your kind comments and lovely Kudos for this little series! It meas the world to me that I can share what I write with you.
> 
> And now, have a great read!

.........

BB

.........

"Do you think he would consent to be experimented on?" the man beside him asked; the childish excitement on his face not diminishing in its brightness even when he received an absolutely appealed look in response.

Really, he shouldn't be shocked anymore by what came out of Tony Stark's mouth during the most innocent conversations. But there was a fine line between unorthodox inventor and mad scientist, which his current lab partner loved to walk on as if it were a tightrope and he a particularly reckless acrobat.

Because they were supposed to be "science bros" Tony did back paddle from that creepy sounding question, though he clearly hadn't given up on the idea itself. "Yeah, OK, that came out wrong. I'm not suggesting that we strap him to a metal table and stick needles in him, or something," he said, his hands waving around in the air to describe that "something", his back leaning against their shared work bench. "I'd be happy enough if the guy agreed to spent a few hours in my workshop, doing his thing, while I let Jarvis take some scans on his energy output. It's not like he's got a problem with showing off his talents."

If he did mind, then he was very good at hiding it as he reenacted his performance from earlier, for all those who hadn't been allowed to attend the SHIELD briefing. There was a gaggle of agents and doctors surrounding the wizard; closest to him were Jane, Erik and their quirky intern Darcy, all of them watching the light show with the rapt attention that it deserved.

The illusions were honestly a pretty sight. They would have been hard enough to produce with Hollywood special effects but Loki seemed to get along with only the wiggling of his fingers and the power of his mind. Because that was what _real_ magic was all about, apparently.

So, on a whole, he understood Tony's fascination with the other "consultant", though he himself wouldn't go as far as to study people like a modern Dr. Frankenstein.

"You can't tell me that you're not curious about how he does it," the engineer insisted, his eyes on the screen behind him on which Bruce was running the latest numbers on the Tesseract search. "I, for one, would give a small fortune for a handbook. Seriously, I tried to make him spill the beans on this shape-shifting shtick, but he was super vague."

"Er, right; he said it came natural to his people."

Natural, and as painless and effortless as it would be to change into a different pair of pants. Which made Bruce just a tiny bit jealous because it wasn't anything like that for him.

Also, "people" here meant an entire species, who lived on their own planet, outside of the Milky Way. Thinking in such dimensions would definitely take some getting used to, even more than all the other crazy stuff in his life.

"Yeah, but that's like saying 'we all breathe oxygen, so who cares how it works'," Tony remarked, his tone petulant, as though the other man's vagueness had personally insulted him. "Still, I bet you could give me a two-hour lecture on the process, and if Blue's Clues is a real wizard, he should be able to explain his magic."

"He might, if you ask him nicely," came the reply; not from the man they were discussing but from his blond friend, Thor. He'd made the transition from the briefing room to the lab with everyone else, though, unsurprisingly, he hadn't joined the other spectators. The magic routine had to be rather mundane to the God of Thunder.

In fact, he had to be horribly bored as, right now, he was sitting at an abandoned desk, leafing through a stack of notes, without making any attempt to look like he was reading them. "However, if you hope to gain the Trickster's aid," he said, a wide smile on his face as he swiveled left and right in his office chair, "I would advise you not to mock him in his hearing."

Was that some kind of folk saying where he came from? Or maybe he just thought that his fellow prince deserved a little more respect. But a billionaire who publicly butted heads with politicians was not the best person to demand that from, and the majestic air of royalty wasn't going to leave much of an impression on someone who could build a skyscraper with their name on it.

What the comment did, instead, was prompt more questions.

"Are you expecting me to believe that your buddy can hear us from all the way over there," - A pen in hand, he stabbed the air in the general direction of the other end of the large lab – "through the noise of his admirers gushing about his awesomeness?"

Tony wasn't wrong; at some point within the last half hour, the simple reenactment had turned into a stage production, with a riot of colors projected at the ceiling and people clamoring for a good spot to see the magic unfold. So, Bruce had to agree that it seemed fairly unlikely that Loki had heard a word they'd said, even had they been shouting.

Undeterred by the skepticism, Thor got up from his chair, gazed at the crowd that was surrounding his friend, as if to assess the distance, and gruffly said, "Oh, he most assuredly can," in the manner of one, who'd learned about this the hard way.

Well, unusually good hearing wasn't the weirdest superpower to have, maybe not even the weirdest in this room. And what they'd talk about couldn't have bothered Loki too much, as it didn't slow down his performance one bit.

"All right, I'll take your word for it," the inventor said, still with a hint of doubt in his voice. "But what about you, Sparky?" He grinned at Bruce when that nickname made the blond alien's eyes go wide. "Coulson mentioned that you've got magic, too."

And, in the same breath, the agent had mentioned that they shouldn't call Thor a wizard because the ensuing argument would be "unpleasant" for all involved.

The Thunder God looked more embarrassed than angry, though.

"I am not much adept at spell work," he acknowledged, a hand kneading the back of his neck. "Although Loki insists that the way in which I summon lightning is regarded seidr, as well."

Huh. Meaning, it was up for debate what was and wasn't magic. But what else would you call the ability to personally alter the weather?

Uncaring for the right terminology, Tony just saw the chance to learn more about the powers used and took it by the horns. "Summoning lightning sounds fun. Could you do that in a closed environment, like, say, a workshop?" he asked, his brown eyes alight with artless ambition; the kind that beat in the heart of a nerdy kid, preparing to win the next science fair.

Thor didn't give off the impression of being particularly nerdy, though he seemed happy enough to oblige the inventor in his plans. "I can do so wherever I please, as long as I have Mjölnir by my side," he claimed proudly, patting the hammer tied at his hip as one would a pet. "Yet I must warn you, that such an experiment would not be very safe."

Even before the other man opened his mouth Bruce knew this warning would fall on deaf ears. It wasn't necessary to pay attention to the highly sensationalized stories about him to know that Tony Stark liked living on the edge; the many ways in which he'd tried to tease out the Hulk during the first hours of their acquaintance proved that he had no reliable self-preservation instinct.

Sure enough, he threw caution to the winds by slapping Thor on his admirable biceps, saying, "Eh, what's a little risk of life and limb in the light of important scientific discoveries? Right, Brucie?"

From an outside perspective it would seem incredibly unwise to encourage the madness of a man who liked to test his high-tech suits by racing them against air force jets, but Bruce was the exact worst person to lecture anyone on proper lab safety.

"I won't tell you this is a bad idea." Because that would be a waste of breath. "You're an adult." If one applied a generous interpretation of adulthood. "But, just in case, you should have a doctor on speed dial. And, no, _I_ don't count."

Aware that there was no more he could do to prevent serious bodily harm, he left the two to plan their indoor lightning strikes and went back to the calm certainty of numbers and variables.

It was ironic that his help apparently wasn't needed anymore, now that SHIELD had replaced science with wizardry, as this was why he'd returned to the US. Of course, hiding himself away in the most derelict neighborhood of Calcutta had only ever been a temporary fix; a breather after the chaos of Harlem. He'd meant to wait until the story had left the news cycle and then concentrate on coming up with a cure.

General Ross was, unfortunately, not shaken off that easily as a bunch of reporters; all it would have taken for the old bastard to pick up the scent again would have been another "incident". There hadn't been one of those in a year now and still SHIELD had found him. Or, if he were to believe Agent Romanov, they had never lost him in the first place.

At least, they had given him a choice on whether or not to leave his self-imposed exile. Though he couldn't imagine what would have happened had he said no. The small army of agents that surrounded the hut he'd left together with his recruiter had definitely been prepared for a fight. They hadn't come for the other guy, however, but for him. Which was the only reason that he had agreed to join the Tesseract search team.

He wasn't sure yet if he regretted that decision.

It was nice to work along like-minded people again; he couldn't deny that. People who did not only have a similar intellect but also shared his priorities. They could talk for hours about a long-established theorem and didn't stick to the usual water-cooler topics, like which team won yesterdays game or the latest plot twist in their favorite TV show. Though he'd been away for a while, he didn't feel out of place here.

And then there was Tony, the impulsive, pop-culture spewing man-child, who had unexpectedly become his friend. How that had come about was a riddle for the ages. After introducing himself he had complimented Bruce for a paper he'd written years ago, remembered meeting him at a conference even farther back and once they had completed their first scan for the illusive Tesseract, he had issued a thinly veiled invitation to move into his high-class cooperate tower.

That friendship was worth the twenty-hour trip, he supposed.

So far, his stay at SHIELD's headquarters had been completely bizarre, though. Especially when it came to who else he had met here.

Of all the people in the scientific circles he could have imagined working for a secret spy agency, Erik Selvig would have been the last. They hadn't known each other that well, as they specialized in different fields but Bruce could recall commiserating with the older man about the ridiculous process of getting funding for their pet projects. The detail that had made this conversation stick with him was the astrophysicist's adamant refusal to help some "shady companies" in positioning their satellites.

Was harboring a pair of aliens enough to change someone's mind so fundamentally? Not that it was a bad reason, per se. Miles better than his own reasons for overriding his cautious nature and ignoring every rule of his chosen profession.

He was grateful, given that gloomy thought, that his musings were interrupted by a sudden onset of silence. Tony had finished plotting his newest experiment, coinciding with the end of the magic show; both of which likely caused by Fury's arrival in the lab.

With the director came Agent Coulson and Steve Rogers; the latter still looked a bit dazed by what he'd learned in the briefing. The three of them halted in front of Loki, who had made himself comfortable on one of the many desks; his deft hands braiding flowers into Ms. Lewis' hair, though the room hadn't held so much as a ficus before.

As he walked over, Bruce only caught the tail end of the question, something about fun, that the wizard answered in a try tone, smirking impishly.

"Oh yes; I enjoyed myself immensely. It is always nice to have my talents be appreciated."

His young friend, standing between his legs, smiled up at him and said, "Of course we appreciate your seidr. It's super awesome!" This earned her a hug from behind and kiss planted atop her decorated hair.

Predictably, Fury didn't care too much for the sentimental display. "Yeah, we're very appreciative. But, now that we're all on the same page, we should finally get that search underway."

Paper rustled as an agent sifted through the many notes gathered by everyone during the last three days. Once she found it among the piles, she handed a print-out of the latest satellite data over to her boss, who looked at it for about a second before commenting, "Seems that, so far, we've got jack shit."

Harsh but true. They could have had the collective equipment of the NSA and NASA at their disposal – and, for all that he knew, SHIELD did have the authority to appropriate both – and come up with the same dismal result. Scientific discovery consisted of a lot of trial and error but there was a time and place for any sane man to admit defeat.

In _this_ place, there was also the time to bring in an otherworldly Sherlock Holmes with a dash of High Fantasy.

"Odinson would have us believe that your magic isn't all pretty little lights but that it can help us catch the bastard that stole from us," the director said to Loki; sounding doubtful of that himself. "Would you care to demonstrate some of _those_ talents?"

The obvious dig at the earlier performance didn't go over the alien's head; he just appeared to decide that it didn't deserve more than a raised eyebrow in response. "Oh, but of course," he replied cheerfully. "Just off the top of my head, I can think of five different methods to find a lost item. Although, if you would excuse my curiosity, you have yet to tell me what exactly we are looking for."

"Does it matter?" Fury asked, in what had to be the politest way he could say "None of your damn business".

The message was clear enough, and Loki's red eyes held the appropriate amount of irritation, while his tone remained polite yet aloof. The calm before the storm was what it looked like. "Not knowing what it is should not impede my ability to find this weapon of yours, if that is what you meant to ask."

It might impede his willingness to help, though. Which, right now, seemed the bigger issue. Bruce really couldn't see the benefit of keeping secrets from one's allies. That, to him, came close to self-sabotage. If they didn't trust the man, why had they hired him?

It was probably safe to assume that SHIELD's director wasn't in the habit of making friends with his employees. "Good to hear. There are already too many civilians involved in this, for my taste."

One had to wonder which civilian bugged him the most; the volatile scientist or the billionaire? Oddly, the blue-skinned prince with an arsenal of knives arrayed on his belt looked the opposite of a non-combatant. Though, perhaps Fury included everyone who wasn't affiliated with his agency in that category. Which was how Loki seemed to take it.

"Verily; as I am not one of your agents, I have no grounds to complain when you choose not to share your technological marvels with me," he said; voice as frosty as the rest of him. Did anger instinctively bring out the cold in him or was he, somehow, lowering his body temperature deliberately?

What made the first option more likely was that his friends immediately tried to calm him down. "Look, do you remember telling me that you couldn't divulge all of your realms secrets because that could get you in trouble with your king?" Selvig asked, presumably referring to the book he'd written with the help of two Norse gods. "SHIELD has people they have to answer to, as well, you know?"

"Right. Besides, turning into a snowman now would be really poor diplomacy," Lewis chimed in, and though she'd carefully stepped out of her honorable brother's embrace a moment ago, she now placed a hand on his, where it was digging sharp nails into the top of a metal desk.

So much for picking anyone for this team for their intellect alone.

Thankfully, the physical contact managed to do what no trite words could have and the cold withdrew as thoroughly as though someone had finally bothered to close a fridge door.

"Fine. I will not pry into your affairs any further," Loki said stiffly. He pushed himself off the table and prowled towards Fury like a predator on the hunt. "To that end, I would suggest that I use the swiftest way available to me to find your missing 'thing' and then return to my own realm."

"Sounds like a plan," Agent Coulson interjected, nervously looking from his boss to the blue alien. "What is the swiftest way?"

"Hm, let me think," the wizard replied, contemplative and far friendlier, now that he was no longer addressing the director. "Scrying should do nicely."

If he were dealing with regular humans, Bruce would have assumed "scrying" to be a new form of online communication that he'd missed out on when away from the US. But with a man literally out of this world, the possibility for this was slim. More likely it had something to do with magic and, on that front, he was as clueless as the rest of the people in this room.

"'Tis the art of seeing an object from afar through a reflective medium, by drawing on the traces that the object has left on the fabric of the universe," Thor explained, in an offhanded delivery, as if it were as simple as the step-by-step of how to boil water.

Those who knew him best were visibly stunned that this explanation came from him.

"Is he right about this?" the intern asked the actual expert on magic.

"Yes, he is," Loki said hesitantly, like he had trouble believing his own words. "Although, I have to wonder how he would..."

"My mother," was the, again, simple answer. Which, presumably, made perfect sense, if you were familiar with Thor's family.

As the two aliens had, by their own admission, been "acquainted since childhood", the almost sheepish smile on the wizard's face when he replied, "Ah, I might have guessed," was nothing unusual. That he followed it up with a cold, hard stare only a second later felt jarring, though.

This man's mood swings could cause some serious whiplash. And, no, Bruce did not think that observation made him a hypocrite.

"Unfortunately, Frigga Queen did not teach our esteemed Thunderer more than the theory on seidr, so you will have to make do with _me_ if you want back what was stolen from you," he told Fury, with an underlying snarl to his every word. 

SHIELD's commander looked wholly unimpressed, even by the show of inhumanly sharp teeth, and left the task of smoothing over relations to his deputy, once more. "And we are, of course, very grateful for your help, Loki," the agent said, with overt politeness. "But you're right that we should get this done with. Primarily to avoid harm to innocent people, if the weapon were put to use."

Yeah, that could spell disaster. Although, they might have gotten further in their initial search, had the thief activated the Tesseract when they took it. All of that radiation couldn't possibly go unnoticed. 

That, naturally, begged the question: Why hadn't the cube been used by now?

Yet, for the sake of his blood pressure, he should better not get any more involved in the spy work. And once he'd done his part, he might consider a new, less conspicuous hideout. He'd heard good things about the Arctic.

.........

Magic, it tuned out, could be more complex than mere hand-waving. Sometimes, it even required props.

In the same room that they'd been shown in the security feed, Loki was sitting cross-legged in front of a bowl of water, one hand hovering in the air above it, the other gripping the edge of the shelve that had until recently supported a metal suitcase.

Along with everyone else, Bruce was watching this through a laptop's webcam in an adjacent room because, according to their magical expert, their close presence might "interfere with the traces" he was seeking. Thor had reacted with immediate understanding when his friend banned him from helping, agreeing that the magic that was "running through his veins" could potentially be a distraction.

That both aliens could talk of this with a straight face went to show that, what was weird for some people, could be completely normal to others. Even if all his current "normal" needed was a snowy owl to make him suspect he'd fallen asleep while reading a chapter of Harry Potter.

A not very thrilling chapter, admittedly, considerably lacking in action scenes. In fact, to the untrained eye, this "scrying" thing looked a lot like meditation. One had to give Loki credit for being able to keep to it, with so many pairs of eyes on him. Not that the wizard could have felt those eyes through layers of concrete, nor should he be bothered by the hushed conversations that were springing up between the onlookers during the long wait.

Tony, never the most patient of people, faked a yawn and said glumly, "OK, I'm officially registering my disappointment here. Magic should be _fun_; it isn't supposed to be like watching paint dry."

No one else voiced their frustrations but the inactivity was making them all a little restless. Agents Romanov and Barton had started to converse in Russian; Fury seemed to be discussing some unrelated mission with an underling over the phone; Coulson was showing Steve a stack of old cards, and Bruce felt his mind drifting to a certain formula he had yet to perfect.

Only Thor was still paying his undivided attention to the computer screen that showed his fellow alien. "Oh, do not fret," he told the billionaire calmly, "such workings take time. Yet, once Loki has picked up a trail, we will see what _he_ sees."

So, the water would function as a mental projector? Was that the point of using a reflective surface or would they just be given another illusion performance?

Whatever they were meant to see, at the moment it didn't look promising. Loki wasn't moving a muscle except for his chest, that rose and fell with every deep breath he took; prompting jokes about the wizard having lulled himself to sleep.

Occasionally, the water would ripple as though someone had been skipping stones from far off.

Although or maybe _because_ nothing was happening, it was hard to take one's eyes off the live feed. The atmosphere in the room resembled the dreadful tension during a hope spot in a horror movie, where the viewers barely dared to blink, in anticipation of the killer jumping out of a shadowy corner towards their fearful victims.

In real life, however, the break in tension did not arrive with a jump but with a dull_ thump_. The video flickered like an old TV the very moment Loki was hurtled by an unseen force against the wall at his back, then it cut out entirely.

The black screen served as a wake-up call, pushing everyone into action. Over his phone the director called for backup and, thankfully, a team of medics; Tony got busy trying to reconnect the laptop to SHIELD's surveillance feed and Coulson ordered the other two agents and the as ever helpful captain to secure the perimeter, making sure that no more of his people walked into this, as of yet, unspecified danger.

Assumptions that he was a medical doctor usually annoyed him to no end; there were, after all, other kinds of doctors who worked just as hard. But Bruce did have some training in first aid and his years of studying human biology were useful in that respect, as well. Frankly, he knew he had to get over there because they couldn't very well leave Loki to himself until help arrived. No matter how powerful the man was, an impact that had been audible in another room should have given him more than a mild headache.

Missing credentials notwithstanding, he wouldn't have thought that he'd be stopped from patching up a wounded teammate, but a strong hand on his shoulder held him back before he could get one foot out of the door. "You mean to aid Loki," Thor said, somehow having read his intentions. "That is noble of you, Bruce Banner. Yet you ought to be careful. The threat a furious Jötunn can pose, is nothing against that of an injured one."

The cold really was a natural defense mechanism, then. That was seriously fascinating and made him feel even more sympathetic towards his "science bro" when it came to the desire for experiments. Plans in that direction had to wait for another day, however.

"OK; thanks for the warning, I'm gonna go now and..."

"I will accompany you," the big blond said firmly, in what was clearly not a suggestion.

Which was fine with him; a familiar face couldn't go amiss, when dealing with a prickly patient and - depending on the level of injury - he might be grateful for the assistance of someone not known to be squeamish at the sight of blood.

The moment he stepped into the hallway he realized, though, that what he really could have benefited from were a pair of gloves. And maybe a coat.

Goosebumps rose on his bare arms; his breath was frosting in the air; beside him, Thor was rubbing his hands together for warmth.

In the span of five minutes, since he'd last seen the place on a 15'' screen, the small storage room had been turned into a walk-in freezer. A latticework of frost was creeping up the ceiling, and they had to set their feet with care, as though they were sliding over a skating rink.

On the opposite side from where he'd been sitting before, Loki lay slumped against a wall. No open fractures were visible but he probably wasn't conscious right now, given that he seemed to have hit the concrete head-first.

"At least he doesn't appear to be bleeding much," he said, which was the only positive observation that came to mind right now.

"How would you be able to tell, from afar?" he was asked, the tone one of confusion. "His blood is nearly the same color as the rest of him."

Huh. That complicated things. Hopefully, a direct examination would let him make a more accurate diagnosis.

The closer Bruce stepped towards his patient, the colder it became; leading him to believe that the blue alien was the epicenter of this localized blizzard. So, Thor definitely hadn't been kidding about the danger involved.

"Is it safe to touch him?" he asked the other man, who was crouched down next to his friend, not able to stop himself from shivering.

"We might have to wait until he wakes," the Thunder God replied, sounding unhappy about that prospect. "Not too long, though. There is something wrong here; the air feels..." He looked like he was grasping for the right word, but he was distracted from that task when Loki mumbled something between gritted teeth.

The wizard's eyes were open yet unfocused; his breathing was labored.

Whatever he'd said had definitely not been in English, so Bruce was grateful to get the translation a moment later. Though, a translation for that translation would have been nice, too.

"Dark magic," Thor said gravely.

"That's bad, I take it," he guessed, inferring from the blond's concerned face that this was what they should be worried about the most, rather than his friend's possible concussion.

"If there is enough of it that _even I_ can feel it?" He swallowed a lump lodged in his throat, looking vaguely ill. "'Tis very bad, yes. We should get Loki out of here." With surprisingly careful fingers he brushed black strands of hair out of his fellow prince's face, then half-jokingly requested, "Be so good and do not burn me, hm?"

Burn? In this cold, how would he...?

Ooh, _frostbite_. That was...

Damn, this was not the time to ponder the chemistry behind that temperature change. There was a life at stake here.

"It might not be a good idea to move him. There could be internal bleeding," Bruce advised, though Thor was already slinging one blue arm over his shoulder.

"He has suffered worse at my hands," the blond countered, his tone matter-of-fact. But once he had lifted his friend up from the ground he added ruefully, "We were enemies, in our youth." Which explained why he was aware of the other's potentially burning skin.

Though Bruce would have preferred that they had waited for the medics to bring a stretcher, he did not voice his protests again when he saw that Loki could set one foot in front of the other on his own. He simply kept pace with the two men and looked out for any signs of a more serious injury.

They had taken a few steps on slippery ice in the direction of the hallway when Thor asked him to walk on ahead. "Instruct the others that they have to leave this building, as quickly as possible."

"You think the whole warehouse is affected by this... dark magic?"

"In such high concentration and without anyone controlling it?"- His eyes fell on the man he was half-carrying, who was lucky enough to control his limbs-"It could shave years off your live, if it does not kill you outright."

Ah, yeah; evacuation sounded reasonable in the face of what amounted to the aftermath of a reactor meltdown. Knowing he had to hurry, he skidded over the frozen floor as fast as he could. At the door he chanced one last look at the alien duo, hoping that lagging behind wouldn't put them at risk, only to discover that they had effectively stopped walking.

It couldn't be because Loki was too hurt to go on, as he now stood unsupported and several feet away from Thor; fists balled at his sides and emitting wisps of green light. His speech was just the tiniest bit slurred but steady enough to convey his utter fury. "Tell me, _my friend_, did you know that the mortals were playing around with the Cosmic Cube?"

Though the room had not actually gotten warmer, there was enough heat in the deep red eyes to melt the ice on the walls.

Shit. Seemed like the "mystery weapon" had been found. And correctly identified.

Though, really, they should have seen this coming. You couldn't ask a genius scientist to solve your problems and think he wouldn't also unearth some inconvenient secrets in the meantime. And for SHIELD to alienate people who could be allies, not only to their own agency but to Earth as a whole, was pretty damn stupid. Something told him, the two 'gods' could put even the Hulk through the wringer, if they should ever find themselves on opposite sites.

But for now, Bruce was still the one in the driver's seat and he tended to defuse potentially lethal situations _before_ they turned violent.

"All right, guys, let's shelve the argument about who knew what when for later and get ourselves somewhere safe, yeah?" he suggested, and was, thankfully, not ignored by either man. "If this magical radiation is anything like the regular kind, we shouldn't be exposed to it for longer than necessary."

He would probably be fine, in any case, but there were others in this building who would not be so lucky to escape unscathed. As though they had needed him to point that out to them, Thor and Loki looked at him with similarly apologetic expressions, then meekly followed him out of the ice-covered storage room.

He didn't know when he'd been voted the voice of reason for this team of misfits but it might be another qualification he could put on his resume. Provided that he would ever get to apply for a normal job again.

Maybe that could come _after_ they had gotten ahold of that crazy cube and avoided the destruction of the US capital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this chapter there are no long author's notes needed. (I know, terribly disappointing)  
The worldbuilding will commence in the next chapter, though.
> 
> I'm anxious to know if I managed to depict Brucie in-character. He's one of my favorite people but he's not particularly chatty so this required more narration and internal observations than usual.
> 
> We will continue with our original main protagonists, hopefully very soon.  
Thank you for reading. I wish you all a great week.
> 
> See you next chapter!


	5. Two issues of trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How to make a chapter interesting that could have genuinely been filmed by C-SPAN?  
Throw in some petty squabbles, pithy insults, a dash of angst and a whole lot of fluff.
> 
> In other words: This is the politics-heavy chapter that barely anyone asked for, but which might still make you go _awww!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so I did managed to get out one more chapter before the end of the year, how about that?
> 
> And while I was writing this, I wondered what about 2019 did people just to love to bits? Right, Politics! *hehe*  
But, to be honest, I felt that I really had to put in the middle part, because I'd been alluding to it in previous chapters and it does, at least, answer some questions about Asgard and Jötunheimr.  
I hope, it doesn't prove as divisive as an earthly political debate. 
> 
> Thank you for all the love that this story received in 2019 and before.  
Your comments and support made a rather mediocre year a great deal more wonderful.  
I'm grateful to each and everyone of you.
> 
> Have an awesome New Year, my dear readers!  
And, happy reading!

.........

LL

.........

Loki had very little skill at cultivating friendships, that was the unvarnished truth. The reasons for this sad affair were manifold and differed from realm to realm.

On Jötunheimr, his title usually stood in the way of any meaningful relationship. Either people thought to curry the prince's favour with empty flattery or they were too wary to speak freely with the son of their king. He knew that Helblindi had similar difficulties, which was why the closest friend he could claim was a soldier who had served under him for centuries. That Býleistr had escaped his big brothers' fate was owed to his chosen profession, as the priests genuinely viewed each other as equals and therefore treated him just as they would the son of a goat herder.

Away from home, he was not nearly as well respected and there, unfortunately, his reputation preceded him. Among the Vanir, for example, the best he could hope for was tepid civility but, then again, the mischief directed at them had often gone a little overboard.

The Dvergar of Nidavellir hated him almost as much as he hated them and those of Svartálfheimr valued his custom but not his company.

He did have a good rapport with the Álfar and they were always happy to share their knowledge with him. Sadly, his status as a warrior deterred the peace-loving people from growing more than passing fond of him. Considering that most others in the Nine thought him _not enough_ of a warrior, that was rather ironic.

Now, Asgard had usually been a source of enmity, instead, and the less said about that _one_ exception the better. Yet the Golden Realm had, inadvertently, gifted him with something far greater than a friend – a whole group of them.

Erik and Jane and Darcy had come as a blessing during his banishment, and even now, thinking of the impact they had on his life and his very character, filled him with a deep sense of gratitude. He could, however, curse the Norns for setting them up with so very dissimilar lifespans and for the vastness of space between their worlds.

That distance could, of course, be overcome by ship or bridge or a mage's unconventional means. Indeed, he had done so this very day and only then – when their familiar voices washed over him, when he could see his own happiness reflected in their eyes, when he had his arms full of excited little sister – did he allow himself to admit how much he had missed them.

Their parting had not lasted overly long, fortunately, and he had been kept busy for most of that time, which was the sole reason why he had refrained from visiting Asgard every other day to demand reports on the mortals, until Thor came to tire of his very presence.

Though that appeared to have happened anyhow and entirely without any sort of wrongdoing on his part.

Calling the two of them "friends" had been laughable from the start, regardless of how quick the blond oaf had been to adopt that moniker for him. His own expectations for the peace between them had not been particularly high, either.

Yes, they had not fought one another during the last four months but that was hardly an accomplishment, as they had met only once since then. And, yes, that one time had been rather memorable, for being the occasion of a treaty that they both now fully supported. It had also led him to believe that their own personal conflict had come to an end, as well.

At times, he could be a right fool.

.........

One year ago

.........

"Are you sure that you wish to accompany me, Son?" Laufey asked, moments before he himself planned to depart for Asgard.

Loki was thankful for this last chance to renege on his word, despite knowing that he could not take it.

"I do not _wish_ to, yet I have to," he said, taking a fortifying breath of cold spring air, in order to speak with the right amount of conviction. "I promised you that I would try to take my responsibilities as a prince more seriously and one aspect of that is accepting blame for my mistakes."

A sizable portion of that blame should be shouldered by another prince but somehow he did not doubt the Thunderer's willingness to do just that.

And so, father and son walked along the Rainbow Bridge, and while the circumstances for their visit were all too similar, the reason they were here could not be any more different. This time, it was not about doling out punishments; no, this was a last attempt to negotiate a truce.

There had been several of those attempts over the previous two months, according to Helblindi. None of them had led to notable results because Odin's counsellors stubbornly refused Jötunheimr the slightest concessions. The respectable elders thought the ghastly Frost Giants ought to just sign the old agreement and count themselves lucky.

That suggestion did, understandably, not go over well with the king of the selfsame giants. Wherefore, the Aesir and Jötnar remained locked in a state of war. 'Twas a war of the low simmering sort, only, that did not see them engage in actual battle, yet the evidence for it was all around them, even so.

The streets of Gladsheim, filled before with people who jeered and pointed at the monsters, were nearly empty now; apart from a few stragglers hurrying home and the guards taking up strategically important positions. There was a distinct hum in the air, that became stronger the closer they got to the palace.

_They have put up the shield_, Loki realised with dread. The shield, protecting Valaskjalf and its grounds, drained a good portion of Asgard's ambient magic and was only used when the realm was under attack.

A deliberate display of power, there was no doubt about it, and a glaring reminder of which party in this conflict was the more vulnerable one.

Such posturing did not promise anything good for the negotiations, though he was not optimistic about the outcome, anyhow.

Certainly, the people meeting them in the Asgardian Royal Council chamber looked as if they wished to be anywhere but here and, in some cases, as though they had to valiantly suppress some hateful remarks. The only saving grace was the sight of Frigga Queen, which indicated that her husband was still in Sleep.

If Loki had to attend any of these meetings, it was probably a good choice to have come today.

Upon the Jötnar's entrance a lot of meaningless pleasantries were exchanged, that were part of the formal dance of diplomacy. Breaching with the usual protocol, Thor then stepped away from his people and towards his two enemies, bowing low.

"King Laufey, I wanted to take this opportunity to apologise for my unjust attack on your realm. I may have been provoked to act by an incident that occurred on Asgard," – He shot a rueful glance at Loki, presumably for making mention of that regrettable incident – "but I recognise that the way I retaliated was far out of proportion to the original offence. It shames me to think that good men had to lose their lives to answer for my wounded pride. Be assured, though, that I no longer bear your kind any ill-will and that keeping the peace between us is now of utmost importance to me."

"Hm, those are pretty words," the king replied, his tone thoughtful.

Truly, this was more eloquent than he had ever heard the Thunderer speak, which might have one suspect a different, more talented author, if the man were of a less honest nature. Oddly, no request had been made on either side for an official apology, so this must have been a spontaneous decision by Thor himself. A gesture that was clearly appreciated.

"I can tell that they are sincerely meant, however. And as you and my son have settled your centuries-long feud, it does allow for the hope that any violent disputes between the Jötnar and Aesir are likewise a thing of the past."

The king looked pointedly from one prince to the other, implying this possible peace depended on their good behaviour, which was closer to the truth than they might feel comfortable with. Thor nodded solemnly in understanding then cocked his head at Loki, as if to issue a challenge. Which had, for once, little to do with a warrior's arrogance. It was like a cup being passed from one man to another, filled with a bitter potion needed to heal their wounds. Or the wounds they had caused.

Loki had, naturally, expected that he would have to do some grovelling on this day yet he had counted on less of an audience; preferably no more than the intended recipient. Staying silent now and leaving his speech for later would make him seem disingenuous, though.

No one had ever claimed that being a responsible adult had to be fun.

He opted not to step any closer to the queen, as he reasoned her counsellors might mistake that as a threat, but he did bow to her before saying, "I, too, would like you to know how very sorry I am for violating the terms of the truce. Think of me what you may, I never meant for anyone to come to harm." Apart from a certain blond prince, whom he would have enjoyed to render short an eye, but it was best not to speak of that in present company. "Disrupting the coronation of your future king was decidedly petty, no matter that I did so for a good reason. After all, none of us here can deny that he was not yet ready for such momentous task."

As predicted, the Asgardians reacted with varied decrees of outrage. He spotted Týr reaching for an empty scabbard, likely lamenting the fact that he was not allowed to bring his sword to the negotiations. When he felt the air sizzle with the beginnings of a storm, Loki determined that he ought to finish his speech quickly and that he had better do so on a positive note.

"Then, again, much can change in a few short months, people as well as opinions. Thor Odinson will be your king one day," he said courtly, like a herald declaring it to the cheering masses, "and I, for one, would hate to be on the opposite side of a battlefield from him, now that I no longer consider him my enemy."

He would not make a bold claim of friendship, but even this small acknowledgement had the mighty warrior beam as brightly as Asgard's golden sun. And Loki was not done yet.

"In light of this, I hereby give you my word that I will not meddle further in matters of royal succession. Furthermore, I shall make an honest effort not to enter your realm uninvited."

This was as far as he was prepared to go, in pursuit of atonement. Still, he knew, most in this room would view it as a pittance compared to what he owed them. Lucky for him, that there was one opinion which could overrule all others.

"It is good to witness such a readiness to let go of old grudges," the queen said, smiling at the repentant princes as well as the stoic faces of her advisors. "Now, in order to bring peace to our realms we here are charged with forging a treaty to which all of us can agree."

Gesturing with one hand at the long oak table behind her, she ushered each of them to their customary seats. As both Thor and Loki had not attended before, they simply sat down next to their respective parent. There were several chairs on either side, between the Aesir and the Jötnar, that had been left empty; a sign of the meagre progress that had been made.

What Frigga said next was equally discouraging.

"This is the seventh time we have come together for this very purpose." She nodded at a man to her right, who had some difficulty with unrolling a stack of scrolls. "Lord Bragi, if you would please remind us of what we have accomplished thus far."

The plump steward cleared his throat noisily and hurried to follow the queen's request by rattling off a rather pitiful list. "Firstly, it has been agreed that Jötunheimr is not required to pay any compensation to Asgard for the breach of the truce, as the unlawful act was committed by only a few individuals and because Asgard has broken the terms, in turn."

Nervously, he glanced sideways at his prince, as though worried he might have given offence. Which was laughable, as Thor himself had acknowledged his wrongdoings.

"Nonetheless, wergild must be given to the families of the fallen soldiers on each side; the exact amount and nature of which are yet to be determined."

Asgard wanted gold and had offered the same to Jötunheimr. That would never do, however; a Jötunn's life could not be measured in metal, no matter how prettily it glittered.

"Jötunheimr also wishes to claim compensation for the damages done to their realm during the... eh, attack. The council has previously viewed this claim as unfounded. But this issue is still open for debate."

How very unsurprising. Why should Asgard care for a few crumbling hovels when they had never reimbursed their enemy for destroying their palace?

"Lastly, measures have to be discerned with which to strengthen the ties between our realms, so to avoid future conflicts."

Hah, there was little chance of those measures bearing fruit. Their races hat been at war with each other countless times in the many millennia of their existence; the first of which had culminated in the murder of hallowed Ymir by one of Asgard's earliest kings. This conflict could not be solved with a sheath of paper, regardless of the promises recorded thereon.

That was how he saw the matter, at least. Another man might take a much simpler view, of course.

"What further steps do you think are necessary?" Thor inquired of the council members, who regarded him with somewhat astonished expressions, probably because he was known for sleeping through and not speaking up in similar meetings. This time, though, he was as alert and engaged as he tended to be only during battle. "In the last two thousand years I alone ignored the law that forbids journeys to Jötunheimr and I have already given my word that I will not bring violence to that realm again."

"Yet you were not alone when you undertook that journey, were you, Odinson?" Laufey countered, to the collective annoyance of all others present. "Still, you are the only one who was punished."

There had been demands, early on, to put all perpetrators on trial. Loki knew his father would have complied and handed over the two soldiers who had broken into Asgard's Vault, with a mage's help. His own request, to try the Warriors Four before a Jötunn court, had been met with indignation, however. As it was now.

"Must we argue this point anew? You cannot expect us to deliver members of Aesir nobility to your questionable mercy, when they have committed no crime" Lady Idunn pointed out. She, at least, had a legitimate grudge against his family, and yet seemed to speak merely from a legal standpoint. "They were duty-bound to follow their prince's orders."

"But were they?" There was a hint of slyness in the king's tone, likely because he already knew the answer or, at the least, suspected it. Certainly, he had heard enough tales about his son's adversaries to have an informed opinion of them. "We have your prince right here, to verify this." He directed a piercing stare towards said prince and, despite trying to defend him before, the counsellors looked just as curious to hear of his actions. "So, tell me, Odinson, did you order these fine warriors to accompany you on your ill-fated quest or was it a favour your friends rendered you?"

"Oh really now," Bragi interjected, sounding exasperated. "This is a waste of time." And it would add another item to his list, which he appeared to fight with absurd vehemence. "What difference does it make why the Lady Sif and the Warriors Three followed Prince Thor to Jötunheimr, if follow they did?"

"Choice," a new voice chimed in, one that all other council members immediately deferred to; even the queen patiently awaited his next words. This display of respect was definitely warranted; there was no one better versed in the laws of the Nine than the Lord Justice Forseti, after all.

Of an age with Odin, his short hair still held more black than grey and his perfect posture always made him look as though he were chiselled from stone. His demeanour could be granite-like, as well, though he was known, far and wide, as a fair and utterly incorruptible judge. Sigyn had once jokingly claimed that he must have read every book on Yggdrasil, which would have come as a surprise to exactly no one, yet unlike his daughter, he was no author, merely an interpreter of the laws penned by others.

"The availability of choice is crucial when one has to decide whether or not to hold a person accountable for their actions." Soft spoken like a parent reading a bedtime story to a child, he also had the tendency to draw out his words, as though he were giving those dimmer than him the chance to keep up, which had the added benefit of silencing all around him, until he finished his oration. "There is no precedent for sentencing loyal subjects for obeying their social betters. If, however, no sort of pressure or coercion was applied, those who break the law must be dealt with accordingly."

Now this provided an easy way out. All Thor had to do was to claim he had used his Norns given right to command his fellow warriors to risk their lives for the good of Asgard, and there was nothing even a king could do to have them punished. Which made it all the more startling when he admitted,

"I did not order my friends to go with me. It would be more accurate to say that I persuaded them; meaning that they could have refused me without fearing reprisals. But I do think it is important to point out that neither of my shield-companions would have ventured to Jötunheimr on their own, for it was I who convinced them that there was a threat to our realm that we had to eliminate."

Loki, the very threat mentioned, had to suppress a smirk as he saw his former enemy's shame-filled expression. Leave it to the stellar hero to throw himself in front of a flaming arrow to save others from harm, with not a thought given to consider if the person deserved such sacrifice.

"There you have it!" Týr exclaimed, triumphant. "The warriors were motivated by their sworn duty to Asgard. Thus, you are not entitled to demand further retribution."

The honourless bastard had the nerve to grin smugly at the king, as though this had been a battle of wills and he the victor. And the king knew very well what kind of game was being played here.

"I do not remember you being so argumentative, General" he said sardonically, with the hidden implication that previous encounters had not given either of them much chance to speak. "I must assume this is wholly unrelated to your daughter being one of the accused."

At this, the shorter man began to sputter, his bearded face was flushed with rage. "You have the gal to speak to me of biases, when your own son got away with little more than a slap on the wrist for committing high treason."

Now, wait a moment. Treason? There were many misdeeds to be laid at his feet, but he had never betrayed his king.

"Er, at the risk of sounding impudent, one cannot commit treason against a realm of which one is not a resident," Loki said as calmly as he could in this situation, with all eyes on him, at least three pairs of which would likely love to see him struck down this instant. "And, if you recall, I was exiled for what laws I _did_ break."

This brought on a plethora of counter-arguments, differing in their harshness but all to the same tune.

"A month and a half, that is hardly enough time to do penance," the steward reasoned.

"Nor is it enough to pay for the lives taken," his wife added.

The general was convinced that, "No matter how much time you would have spent among the mortals, it would have been too small a penalty. For disturbing the peace among the Nine and for threatening all lives on Asgard by attempting to steal that horrid Casket, you ought to have been locked away until Ragnarök. I told the Allfather so, but he decided to be lenient." The last word was spat out as though it left a foul taste on the man's tongue; a mindset that made one pity those serving under his command.

The emotion that could be read on Laufey King's face, though, came closer to cold fury. He was quietly seething, held back from shouting at the council only by a last thread of patience. Loki, sitting beside him, wanted to tell him that it was all right, that he was not bothered by the contempt the Aesir were hurling at him. They might be openly clamouring for his head to be removed from his shoulders, but he was not worried.

He had regained his worth as a prince and the forgiveness of his family; there was nothing of consequence that Asgard could take from him now. Though, in the past, they had taken plenty.

Even the golden realm's prince seemed to think so. "A month was not enough, you say. A month of not knowing when or if he may go home, a month of being powerless and vulnerable to sickness and injury, a month on a strange realm among strange people, accompanied only by his bitterest enemy."

Lightning-blue eyes stabbed each of the counsellors in turn, imploring them to see the act of banishment for what it was - a traumatizing experience, for both princes.

Then, as though fearing he might have been too subtle, Thor boldly professed, "Well, if you think this was not punishment enough, you will have to reserve a cell in the dungeons for me, as well. Similar crimes should call for similar sentencing, should they not, Lord Forseti?"

"Yes, indeed," the Lord Justice said, sounding oddly pleased with himself for disappointing his countrymen's thirst for bloodshed. "If we were to challenge the Allfather's judgement-" Which the Asgardians were clearly too appalled to even contemplate, especially with the queen in attendance. "-we would have to examine whether Prince Loki _and_ Prince Thor were deserving of his... leniency."

After her advisors practically fell over each other to avow that, no, they did not want her son imprisoned, Frigga reined in the heated debate, concluding diplomatically, "I am ever so glad to hear that. The dungeons are no place for young men of such promise." Turning to Laufey she said, "I understand your wish for justice to be served, but the ongoing state of war has put quite a lot of strain on both our people. Surely you agree that we should not fan the flames?"

Loki knew that, in spite of her assurances, the queen could not truly understand why his father was so persistent in his quest to try the other perpetrators. It was not about his authority, which was called into question here, but that he had to face the bereaved families and explain to them why they would not see the murderers pay the proper price.

The Golden Realm did not care for Jötunn sentiments, of course, and appealing to their better nature was an exercise in futility. "As you say," the king acceded through gritted teeth. "I must warn you, though, that should I ever catch any of these four on my lands again, I will not await Odin's permission before I throw them into an Ice Cell."

Giggling during a peace negotiation was likely frowned upon, so he refrained, just barely. It did give him some small satisfaction, however, to have this to dangle over the Lady Sif's head next time they met. That Thor was excluded from the royal edict was a relief, even if words to that effect would never leave his mouth.

This relief was born out of sentiment, as well. Since, as the two of them meant to no longer coax each other into battle, they would not see much of each other if neither was allowed to visit the other's home world.

Midgard really had made him soft.

Asgard, on the other hand, was like the metal that covered it – glimmering and cold and unbending, even to its own people. "Your realm, your rules," the queen acknowledged, which neatly put an end to the discussion.

Her steward was equally talented at diverting a conversation, all the more when he had a list to consult. "If we might move on to the next item on the agenda?" he suggested. A chorus of "Ayes" greeted him, which would probably remain the only time that both sides were going to vote on anything unanimously.

Yet, the sober, detached tone that he then used to recite the, quite emotionally charged, issue, made Loki's stomach roil.

"To remind all present, the appropriate amount of wergild is traditionally calculated from a man's yearly wages at the time of his demise, multiplied by a hundred for a lower classed soldier or a thousand for an officer of note."

There was more but this was all that the prince of Jötunheimr was willing to listen to. He blocked out the hours of haggling that followed, not seeing the point to give his own opinion. Asgard would ask for too much and offer too little, that was almost guaranteed, and whatever else was said was bound to just add to his disgust.

_Darcy would hate this_, he thought and wished he could have brought her along. She would have passionately lectured all these wise elders on human rights and how it was deeply unethical to set a value on a life as one would on a pound of meat sold at the market. He was also certain that she would be bothered by the idea that a person's worth depended on his rank and call it elitist or classist or any such "-ist".

Ach, her righteous anger would make this whole meeting so much more bearable.

Right now, he only had Thor serving as a distraction. The blond was sinking deeper into his chair as the time passed, his gaze locked on the patterns of the table; when the talk turned from the dead Aesir to the Jötnar he grimaced as if he suffered from a tooth ache.

The Thunderer had not killed all of the eleven soldiers; one or two had likely been felled by his companions. He looked to have taken on the guilt the others refused to carry, though. That oaf did nothing by half, not even regret.

Maybe someone ought to test what he was prepared to do, to assuage his guilty conscience.

"If I might offer a solution," Loki said, carefully inserting himself into a conversation that had been reduced to mere bickering. "We will likely never agree on what an appropriate compensation for a life taken should entail. Our beliefs simply differ too much in that regard." As in most others. "On Jötunheimr, you cannot buy off your debts; you need to put in some work." The type of work - physical, intellectual, magical – was chosen by the injured party and considered done only when the culprit was deemed to have earned forgiveness.

"I would never entertain the ludicrous idea that a son of Odin labour at the feet of a Frost Giant." Never mind that the image of it that his mind provided was pretty hilarious. "But, to show his good will, he could pay the wergild out of his own coffers, instead of it being taken out of the royal treasury." The amount for a dozen soldiers would not put much of a dent in the prince's fortune. All of the quests that he had undertaken, the dragon lairs he had pilfered, over the centuries had made him a rich man, independent of the allowance he was given by his king.

But even a small sacrifice could go a long way.

"Would that help?" Thor asked, uncertain, though not reluctant.

Loki could feel his father's eyes on him and, looking up, he could see the same bitterness that had weighed down his own heart whenever he had lost a fight to his rival. Always having to back down in the face of the 'gods' might was demeaning and frustrating, to say the least, yet it was a necessary evil when one was vying for peace. A peace that Jötunheimr needed more than Asgard did.

"It will not make anyone happy," the king replied, not hiding how unhappy he himself was, "but it is an acceptable compromise."

Acceptable to all, it would seem; from the queen who was smiling proudly at her son, to the steward who hastily jotted down the agreement, to Thor who bowed his head to his former enemy, as if to say "You win this round."

He might be excused, then, to have let the lone dissenting voice completely catch him off guard.

"A foul compromise, if you ask me." No one had, but that did not stop Týr from giving his opinion anyway. "We are agreeing to let our prince impoverish himself to appease the Jötnar, yet the Trickster is allowed to act as though he is blameless."

"I did not kill anyone," Loki blurted out. It was true. Technically. Unfortunately, it also made him sound like a child, unwilling to admit he had broken something expensive while alone at home. Exactly the sort of instinctive reaction he was trying to curb in himself.

Ere he could correct his mistake, he was confronted with the steely gaze of Asgard's general.

"I hope you are not expecting us to reward you for taking the coward's way out and letting others do your killing, boy."

The king of Jötunheimr did not have a temper; he was a patient and cautious man, not prone to shouting down the opposition. Except when his family came under attack.

Rushing to his feet so quickly that he upended his chair in the process, he bellowed loud enough for the whole realm to hear, "Have a care how you speak to my son, you vile dog!"

If either man had drawn a blade at the other - of metal or ice – the peace talks would have come to a screeching halt.

Thank the Norns, that Frigga, likely the most level-headed in their midst, knew how to douse the flames. "Lord Týr," she addressed her brutish advisor, her tone calm but commanding, "you will apologise to Prince Loki." When he stared at her with a look that implied he would rather cut out his own tongue, the queen added, "On Asgard, you may answer to the Allfather alone but you are still expected to show a prince of the Nine the respect he is owed."

This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to bring down the arrogant Ás, without lifting a finger himself. Loki only had to keep his composure and hide his glee. So, he bit his lower lip, sat up straight and tried to take in every detail, to be able to replay this scene for a wider audience later.

"I am sorry, if I have given offence, Your Highness," the general said, haltingly, every word pulled out of him with hot pliers.

Graciously the prince inclined his head a fraction, in acceptance of the apology; deciding that, yes, this moment would feature in some of his better dreams.

But all good things had to come to an end eventually, and this group of, more or less talented, diplomats still had a truce to forge. Therefore, when everyone was once again seated, they tackled the next topic they had not yet been able to agree on. Another matter that the Aesir would not budge on, despite it being a rather trivial thing for them to grant.

During the fight on Jötunheimr Thor and his warriors had damaged the road from the old palace to the temple and the colonnade that surrounded the throne, traditionally used for public audiences. What was needed to make repairs were tools, which - according to a stipulation in the old treaty - the Jötnar were forbidden from importing. Well, to be exact, this pertained only to those tools that could also conceivably be used as weapons.

The problem with that logic was, that you could use almost everything as a weapon, when it was designed to cut through layers of ice. As it stood, they could barely get away with purchasing a set of silver spoons from a peddler. Loki had never been reprimanded for buying the odd dagger off-world, but anything of a higher calibre or quantity than that would have gotten even him in trouble.

This stipulation was also the cause of Jötunheimr not having its own fleet of ships, despite Vanaheimr offering to build them for all who could pay the price. Compared to that, a few pickaxes and the aid of some expert stone-cutters was surely not too much to ask for.

He had arrived here in the morning, it was already past noon; taking that into account, he was not hopeful for this to be resolved today. If the Norns were good, Odin would still be asleep tomorrow. Or by next month. Because his queen was so much more sensible and...

"Very well, I see no harm in this."

Unpredictable. It turned out.

In two thousand years he had not seen his father look so very bewildered. And he had once let a goat chew on his hair in public, just to win a bet.

"Honestly," Frigga went on, shaking her head disapprovingly, "how are we to make peace, if we cannot trust each other to use a spade for its intended purpose?"

All right, it was official: Thor did actually have _one_ decent parent.

She did not even permit her counsellors to voice protests, only telling Bragi to, "Note down that Asgard and Jötunheimr are sharing the expenses for those repairs," and thereby also avoiding another long debate on numbers.

This meant the negotiations had come to an end, successfully. Officially.

Except that Loki had this small proposal of his own, that he had planned to bring before the council. Just a tiny question, that had his hands shake with nerves.

"Eh, I was wondering if I might ask for one more concession," he began, his voice thin as a reed. Damn, he should have practised his speech, but there had hardly been time for that since he had arrived home, the day before. "I do not demand, merely ask."

Before he could embarrass himself with more than just stammering out his words like a fool, Frigga, bless her, took pity on him. "Whatever this request is about, it must be rather important to you. So, by all means, speak your mind."

"Thank you, Your Grace," he said, relieved beyond measure. "You see, as you so kindly agreed to open up trade to Jötunheimr a tad, I was wondering whether you would consider easing our travel restrictions, as well."

The Asgardians looked at him as though he had suddenly sprouted wings. Týr looked like he was searching for a nearby spade.

Why was he doing this to himself? Because there would not be another chance for this within the next five hundred years, that was why.

"Where is it that you cannot go that you wish...?" she started to ask, but then Thor, beside her, sighed unhappily, which seemed enough of a clue. "Midgard? I would have thought you were glad to have left that realm."

"I was," he replied, then realised how that might sound. "I _am," _he quickly amended, not wishing to seem ungrateful for his good fortune. "But this is not about me or not solely. The Midgardians are good people; kind and intelligent and advanced in ways that many here would not be able to imagine."

_And I miss them_, he thought wistfully, though no more than a day should have gone by, on either world, since last he had seen his friends.

"That is all well and good, but even those of other realms are not permitted to interfere with the mortals," Lady Idunn explained, as though he might have forgotten.

"Unless you are a scholar," Loki countered, one eyebrow raised. "Scholars regularly take journeys to Midgard, to study the people and their myriad of cultures. They only need to be capable of blending in and who could be better at that than a race of shapeshifters, I ask you."

Maybe that had been a bit too cheeky for this selective audience, but he did think it could not go amiss to remind a certain lord that his daughter had visited the mortals often enough to have written a book about them.

"I agree," said Thor, who probably had not read that book but could, nonetheless, understand the appeal of a trip to Earth. "The humans are eager to learn more about the universe and I am sure they could teach us a lot as well, if we stopped isolating them against their will."

Ooh, there had been a touch of anger in that statement; Jane's influence, he would reckon.

"With all due respect, my prince," the general interjected, apparently having learned his lesson to tread more lightly here, "but we are isolating them for their own good, to protect them from legitimate threats." Or not.

The Thunderer clearly did not like that line of reasoning. There was a deep frown on his face, the air thickened with not-fully-formed clouds. A few months ago he would have lashed out at whoever had earned his ire, but now he just shrugged his shoulders and innocently remarked, "Who would dare to infringe on Asgard's domain? Jötunheimr has certainly no designs on Midgard, is that not right, my friend?"

Now, it was one thing to call him that after they had survived a battle by a hair's breadth, surrounded by people who would be happy to know they were mending bridges. But here, where the Jötnar were still regarded as monsters?

"Right," he said cheerfully, because what else could he have done?

Yet, even as a united front, the two princes could not convince the Asgardian Royal Council to lift a two-thousand-year-old ban. When his father was asked whether his acquiescence to the truce depended on this issue and the king replied stiffly that this was "of no great concern" to him, Loki knew he had missed his chance.

He could try again, in half a millennium, when it no longer mattered.

Feeling miserable, he let the remainder of the discussion pass him by. And he must have looked as though he had fallen asleep with his eyes open, for a golden hand shook him "awake" as all others moved to one side of the table, to commence the signing of important papers.

He looked up at Thor, who was standing to his right, trying to greet him with a smile and failing. "I am sorry, Loki. I know how much this meant to you."

Yes, he did. Which was nice, as no one else would.

"I suppose this means you will have to carry out a lot of deliveries for me, hm?"

Of living things, to other realms.

This time the blond managed a genuine grin; understanding this remark, as well.

"It will be my pleasure," he said, accompanied by the mock of a servant's bow.

While they were bantering like this, it might be possible to sneak in a little seriousness. Which Loki did, before he could think better of it.

"Thank you, Thor. For siding with me."

Strangely, his helpful friend sounded dejected as he replied, "Little good it did you," as though success was all that counted.

"It was kind, even so," he argued firmly. "And, who knows; in a few years, you could _order_ the council to strike this nonsense from the treaty."

Would he have hated himself for saying this, before Midgard? Undoubtedly. But now the mere idea lightened his heart.

"So, now you think I am ready for... hm, how did you put it?" He made a show of racking his brain for the right words, smirking as he found them, "For such momentous task, yes?"

Loki leaned back in his chair, looked the warrior up and down, as if to check that he had grown into his armour, and lazily commented, "Eh, Asgard could do worse."

As he laughed at the hurt expression that did not match the bright blue eyes, he realised that the two of them being friends was maybe not so mad an idea.

.........

A Midgardian year later he was looking at the same man and had to wonder what he had been thinking. This peace, this friendship would never work, because there was no trust between them.

This quickly dawned on him, when Thor responded to a simple question like, "Tell me, _my friend_, did you know that the mortals were playing around with the Cosmic Cube?" with nothing more than a guilty look at his feet.

Right. He was an utter idiot for putting his faith in a son of Odin.

Although his insides were still on fire from the sudden onslaught of dark magic and he knew it would be very unwise to make use of _any_ magic right now, he wasted little time to leave the contaminated building, once Bruce Banner had ushered him out of the storage room.

He had somewhere more important to be and he could not wait for Barton to fly him there.

With practised ease and on unsteady feet, he sky-treaded to SHIELD's stronghold, having thankfully spent enough time there to picture it with his mind's eye. In the scholars' laboratory he nearly ran into Jane, in search for, well, her and the others.

"Loki, is everything OK?" she asked, plainly alarmed by his sudden appearance. Or his appearance, in general. "You look like you've been in a fight. Did you catch the thief?"

Oh, yes, that was what he had been after, but that really did not matter anymore.

"No. I only saw what it is he stole." He had not meant to sound so angry, as it was not Jane he was angry with.

"That's good, right?" Concern shone in her eyes, for _him_, though she should really worry more about herself.

"No," he said again, irritated that she was not grasping the seriousness of the situation. But, then, how could she? With all of this secrecy around the artefact, she might not know enough to fear it. "Jane, just answer me this one question: Did you touch the Cosmic Cube?"

At first, it seemed she did not understand but, not for the first time, that was a consequence of them speaking different languages.

"Do you mean the Tesseract?" At his frantic nod she placed a warm hand on his crossed arms, in an attempt to calm him. Which only her next words could. "No, I didn't. Thor said it was dangerous and..."

"And yet you meddled with that cursed thing?" he cut in, his tone sharp. Now he _was_ angry with her because she was too smart for such folly; she knew better than to play with fire and expect not to get burned.

"We were studying it, from a safe distance," she corrected him, not intimidated by his anger. "The energy it emits could power a city. Or, you know, an interstellar bridge."

Ah, so that was how she had gotten drawn into this. It was not surprising but it still maddened him that Thor would carelessly expose his beloved to such primordial forces.

"That energy could _kill_ you," he informed her ruthlessly, and while she continued to argue with him, this drained her face of some of its colour.

"We didn't touch it," she assured him, and herself. "It was stored behind bullet-proof glass, at all times."

As though glass could hold back the power of an Infinity Stone. But at least this meant she had kept her hands off it. And the others...

"What about Erik? Darcy?" Oh Norns, no. He felt like throwing up his last meal, and that had little to do with the dark magic still coursing through his veins. "Did either of them go near the blasted cube?"

In his panic, he gripped Jane by both shoulders, shaking her lightly, imploring her to answer his unspoken prayers.

"I don't think so," she said, hesitantly. And this alone was enough to bring tears into his eyes. "We can ask them in a sec; they were just getting us some food." 

Worried that he might have hurt her, he let go of her and took a few steps back, balling his hands into fists to hide the shaking. But the lady was too observant for that to have worked.

"Hey, what exactly happened? Why did you come back alone?"

Ah, he should probably let her know that her boyfriend was unharmed, no matter than he was not really in a benevolent mood right now.

When he heard the distinct chatter of familiar voices, any such consideration was wiped from his mind. He could focus on only one task. He turned towards the door and the moment that Darcy came into view, he hurried to draw her into his arms. "Darcy, my dear, please tell me that you did not touch the Tesseract."

She did not feel different, was likely in better health than him, but he had to be certain.

His words had obviously confused her, for she wiggled out of his embrace, and then patted his tousled hair. "Lokes? What's gotten into you? Wait... Are you bleeding?"

"Just a bump on the head; it will heal in a moment." Or, better, several hours, as his body currently had to repair the damage the dark magic had done. "Please, just answer me."

It did not matter that he sounded desperate, because he had every reason to be. If any of them had been hurt by this evil...

"Of course, I didn't touch it. The thing was so heavily guarded, I'd probably have gotten shot, if I'd tried." She looked at Jane for confirmation, then back at him; dryly reminding him, "I'm just an intern."

"Oh, thank Ymir," he cried, hugging her close, once more. He held her like this, until Erik tapped on his shoulder, looking unusually distressed.

"Er, what would happen if we did...," he tried to ask, but was interrupted by Jane's panicked exclamation of "Oh God, Erik, you didn't..." He hastened to confirm, that he had indeed not committed such idiocy but seemed troubled by the topic at hand.

Loki decided that it might be prudent to enlighten his friends about the dangers of the Cosmic Cube, if only so that they would never think to be even on the same realm with it.

"Well, you are mortal and direct contact with it really could kill you, after some time." He had no idea for how long it would be safe, and did not venture a guess. "But it can harm even from afar. It has a certain self-awareness and it wants to be used. To that end, it influences the minds of sentient beings, luring them closer to..."

He fell silent when he saw his grey-haired friend blanch, and reach for the nearest table for support.

"I didn't touch it, I swear. But there was this power surge a few days ago; I went in to check if it was our equipment that was acting up or..."

"Did you feel ill afterwards?"

Was that even a sign of an ancient artefact's influence? He did not know, because there were some areas of magic that he was reluctant to put his nose into. Though, what was true for an overdose of magic might be true of older forces, too.

"I didn't. I _don't_," Erik claimed, not sounding very certain of that. "I'm fine," he said, after a moment's silence, with more conviction but still looking rather pale.

Breaching the few feet of distance between them, Loki immediately placed one hand over the other man's heart. "Let me be the judge of that," he ordered sternly.

In his youth, he had studied the healing arts simply because it had seemed a useful skill to have, but he feared undoing the wounds wrought by an Infinity Stone would be beyond him. He could, however, easily sense foreign energy in someone who could not even draw on benign magic.

"You are very lucky," he said, after making absolutely certain there was not a trace of the Cube's power nestled within his friend's cells. "But _he_ will not be."

Just as he could feel the absence of magic, he could feel its immediate presence.

"You complete bastard," he shouted before Thor was even fully through the door. "You pox-ridden son of a lack-wit troll, what in Hel were you thinking? Ach, what am I saying; you were not thinking at all, were you?"

"Loki, just let me explain," the blond idiot was beseeching him.

There was too much fire inside of him that wanted out, though, and some of that may have been the dark magic, but he did not care enough to differentiate between his own feelings and the violent force that had taken hold of him.

"Explain what?" he spat out, only refraining from drawing a blade because he knew he would not be able to hold it steady. "That you let our friends, people you claim to love, get anywhere near to a fucking Infinity Stone?"

"I told them to be careful when handling it," the Thunderer tried to defend his very poor choices, which did not appease the Trickster in the slightest.

"You should have told them to chuck it into the Void!"

There came some nervous mutterings form the crowd that had, unnoticed by him, formed at the entrance to the laboratory. Thor had flown here with the help of Mjölnir, that was evidenced by the magic still dancing over his skin, but Fury's chosen band of heroes could not have been far behind, for they were now standing at the head of the crowd, regarding him with worry and suspicion.

What were they thinking; that he was going to kill his erstwhile enemy in front of them?

He would not, not even when he was being a reckless ass. Slap him, maybe.

"What was the bloody thing doing here, anyhow?"

It had not been in Asgard's Vault when Loki had enacted his ill-advised scheme, but he had not given that too much thought, back then. _Perhaps Odin kept it as a desk lamp_, he pondered scathingly.

And, speaking of...

"My father thought it was safer here, where people knew not how to use it," Thor said with a grimace, showing that the irony of that had not escaped him.

"Ah, I should have known." He honestly should have; only Odin Borson was that good at manipulating the people around him. "Let me guess: he ordered you to keep the Cube's whereabouts a secret from me."

Which made a twisted sort of sense, because if a king of Asgard ever trusted a Frost Giant with power greater than his own, the end of worlds was surely right around the corner.

"Did he think I would use the damn thing to conquer Midgard?" Odin would certainly not be the only one; his bigoted general first in line. "Though, why stop there?"

"Loki," the other prince said, ruefully. "I am sorry. I had to promise him that I would not tell you of the Cube, or he would not have allowed you to come here."

Well, that definitely sounded like the old, one-eyed snake. It did, however, not absolve his son of the blame; refusing to utter such a promise was unlikely to get him banished again.

"Why insist on my help, then?" Loki wondered, not seeing the point of risking their shaky peace, when there would have been a far simpler solution. "You have a guild of mages on Asgard; any of them could have helped to find that thief."

At this, Thor had the audacity to smile. "Ah, but none of them have friends on Midgard, who have missed them terribly."

Eh. What in the Nine...

This had all been done just get him together with his three companions? What a ludicrous thing to do, when it had almost made him start another feud with the fourth.

"You truly are an idiot," he stated mockingly, unable to suppress a smile of his own. "And so am I. Alas, I am so used to us being enemies, that I cannot even recognise it when you are doing me a favour."

"To be fair, it was quite sneaky how I carried it out, no?" the blond buffoon proposed, attempting a comical imitation of his own wicked grin.

"No. _Clumsy_ is more like it," the Trickster chided. Lazily, he strode over to where Odin's son was ringed by nervous mortals; flung out his arm and gave the still grinning lunk a smack to the back of his head.

"But we are both new to this friendship between us; we are bound to make some mistakes along the way," he pointed out, chuckling at the perplexed faces of everyone but Thor.

Who looked alarmingly pleased at having been slapped. "Then you are admitting it," he asked, his blue eyes glittering with something close to mischief, "that we are friends?"

Hah, he had walked right into that, had he not?

"Well, I feel enough positive emotions towards you that I do not wish to stab you for lying to me. Does that count?"

"Careful there," Thor advised, squeezing his shoulder, "or I might start to think you like me."

What was he to do but stick his tongue out at the oaf?

The status of their friendship was questionable but they had moved far beyond enemies now, that was perfectly clear.

No, the enemy was the one who had taken the cube. Whether a certain king approved of this or not, that menace would have to deal with the combined powers of two mighty princes.

Oh, and a handful of mortal heroes; but it still remained to be seen how useful they would prove to be in battle. And there would _be_ a battle, he could literally feel the portent of that under his skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, this time there actually is some worldbuilding to talk about.
> 
> Firstly, we have Lord Justice Forseti.  
According to Norse Lore, he is the God of Justice and Reconciliation, so a pretty reasonable guy.  
The Eddas don't really describe his looks, but the pictures of him that I found usually showed him with dark hair. And there honestly had to be a few more black-haired Aesir or MCU!Loki would have found out he's not one of them, far earlier.
> 
> Now, wergild I've talked about before. There really was a way to coldly calculate what to pay the bereaved families, and it did in fact depend on the person's social rank. Logical, I suppose, when you have to compensate for the loss of the breadwinner, but it can seem a little crass to modern sensibilities (or Jötunn, for that matter). 
> 
> Back on Earth we have the Tesseract or Cosmic Cube. I generally prefer the latter name for that thing, mostly because it's much simpler and perfectly descriptive. "Tesseract" is a mathematical term for a four-dimensional cube, and therefore not something either Loki or Thor would use, I think.  
As this story has human and alien protagonists, I will use both names interchangeably.
> 
> About the possible harm the Cube can do: This is mostly based on what it did to Erik in the MCU. He might put most of the blame for his mental problems on Loki mind-controling him, but he was acting weird even before Lokes came to Earth. He's the only one who calls the thing "She" and gets rather obsessed with what he can learn from it. My conclusion is that the Cube can put a real mind-whammy on you, if you spent too much time near it.
> 
> And that's it people, the last chapter of 2019!  
Thank you for reading and commenting.  
I wish you all the best for 2020.
> 
> See you next year!


	6. One guiding light to bring them together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can plan a mission for days, be very selective in who you choose to carry it out, take care of every possible variable but still you might fail.  
Or your perspective changes and a failure turns into success.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!  
I'm really sorry for the super long wait, but work life was terribly stressful these past two months and I could barely manage to write more than two hundred words a day. Which, if you're familiar with my work, is about two sentences. ;)  
Now that March is almost upon us I should be able to write at a normal pace again and will hopefully not leave you without updates for so long.  
Thank you to everyone who has left Kudos and comments in the meantime.  
I'm happy that I've not lost your interest yet.
> 
> And now, I wish you an exciting read!

.........

NR

.........

"What is your assessment of the situation, Agent?" the director prompted, arms crossed over his chest; the throbbing vein in his temple indicating his current stress level.

She couldn't blame him; they'd just had to evacuate a bunch of panicked tourists from Roosevelt Island because of a sudden flare-up of "dark magic" in the area. The usual excuse of a gas-leak, that SHIELD's PR department tended to feed to the press, hadn't been that far from the truth, for once. Though, something told her, a substance that could knock out a super-powered wizard was much deadlier than carbon monoxide poisoning.

Despite not having suffered a major injury, Loki had looked a right mess after being flung around by that unseen force; his hair partially dyed blue by blood from a head wound, while bruises in a lighter shade had bloomed on his chest and back, in sharp contrast to his ashen complexion. Being in clear need of medical attention had not stopped him from tearing Thor a new one, for endangering their mutual friends.

It was _this _situation that Fury wanted her opinion on.

"Laufeyson took the news better than we feared." Meaning, he had only shouted abuse at the other alien and not punched him. "He might still be ticked off at _us_ for holding out on him, though."

"Our hands were tied. Asgard insisted on the Tesseract staying secret from anyone not of Earth."

Natasha didn't have to see the disgruntled expression on her SO's face to know what he thought of that. Technically, the order had been given by Odin to Thor, but Asgard's prince had asked that they help him carry it out. He wasn't the best liar, after all.

In a way, the blonde's request had been pretty convenient. Like most intelligence organizations, SHIELD had never been too keen on sharing information, not even with their consultants. In the meeting they'd held before the Jötunn's arrival she had pointed out, however, that this time the secrecy could cause more problems than it was worth.

Because she was a professional assassin and not a snarky teenager and because this was the director sitting across from her and not Clint, she did refrain from claiming "I told you so". That didn't mean she couldn't get some enjoyment out of suggesting, "Whether or not this was our idea, I do believe we should apologize to Loki."

The glare she received for that was positively murderous.

"Yeah, I bet his royal highness would love that," he said, grimacing as a spat out the honorific.

Oh honestly, why were the men around her such damn children?

"He _would_ like that, yes," she agreed calmly. "Because he takes ideas like respect and courtesy very seriously." It had certainly worked like a charm when she's said sorry for shooting him, though he'd been fully aware that she had meant barely half of the words she'd uttered. It had been enough that she had lowered herself to say them, she assumed.

Nick Fury was, by all accounts, not a wellspring of politeness and etiquette. "I'm not a fan of stroking people's overblown egos," was how he put it.

Could it be called arrogance, though, to expect others to kowtow before you, when that was how it had been all your live?

One thing that she'd learned in her job of analyzing targets for their strengths and weaknesses was, that most people were simply a product of their upbringing. If someone was born with a silver spoon in their mouth, it was hardly a surprise that they ended up a bit full of themselves. Knowing this was why Stark's attitude and escapades didn't elicit more than an eye-roll form her.

But where the billionaire could be appeased through some half-hearted praise for his inventions and/or his genius, she thought Loki required a little more finesse.

"It couldn't hurt to play nice," she argued. Usually that was Coulson's job - the smoothing down of ruffled feathers, the placating of heated tempers – because he just had this honest, trustworthy face. Coming from Fury, an apology might not sound near as believable, but it would certainly carry more weight. "He's the only person on the Index with magical abilities."

At least, as far as they knew. SHIELD's agents had never been sent out to hunt witches, in all the decades of the agency's existence. The people they kept an eye on were mutants or enhanced by technology. Magic was as foreign a concept to them as, it seemed, democracy was to other planets. So, the director had to grudgingly admit that,

"We need his help to find the Tesseract, I know," with the same enthusiasm as a patient making an appointment for a colonoscopy. He sighed heavily, a hand massaging his temple; both of it signs that he hated what he was about to say. "I'll take your advice into consideration."

She had him cornered on that issue; she could see it in his eye. Even if, at the moment, he was probably wondering to whom he could delegate the distasteful task. In the end, he would do it though, because he trusted her judgment. Hence, why she'd been called to his office.

"Given his injuries, is it likely that he'll call it quits and head back to his own planet?"

At this, she shook her head, pretty sure that she had the guy figured out, when it came to that aspect of his personality.

"No; he will stick around. For his friends, if nothing else."

Case in point, he had been grinning as he proclaimed that he would have to send a message to his family, informing them that he was not "going to make it home for supper", before he let an implacable intern coax him into taking a nap in one of the Triskelion's guest rooms. Even hurt feelings or wounded pride wouldn't drive him away from Earth, as this might be his only sanctioned visit for the foreseeable future.

"And Odinson?" Fury asked, after perusing her written profile on the second alien.

Unlike most of her targets, that she'd had to observe for a while before she could form an opinion on them, Thor had been absurdly easy to analyze. He was the proverbial open book.

"I know what you think about this, sir." Mainly, that is was condescending crap. "But he really sees himself as humanity's protector." Yeah, that dead-eyed stare was pretty much the reaction she had expected. Annoyed as he was, he definitely wouldn't appreciate one of his agents laughing at him, so Natasha schooled her face into something more serious, as she went on. "To him, this is a sacred duty and he won't leave until it's done. Even if it costs him his life."

He'd already been prepared to die for a handful of people in Puente Antiguo, despite one of them having been his enemy only seconds before. In his report, Barton hadn't been able to decide if Thor had actually died or just come awfully close to it, but that distinction was a puzzle for the medical department to mull over. What mattered was that they could rely on the God of Thunder to fight on their side, if need be.

"Great, so we've got ourselves a hammer-wielding superhero," the director said, his tone dry. He drummed his fingers on the open folder in front of him, drawing her attention to it. "But, if I've read this right, you're thinking that putting him and Laufeyson on the same team could blow up in our faces."

She hadn't phrased it exactly like that, to be sure. Still, she stood by her opinion.

"Well, they're trying to be... friendly to each other." Trying" being the operative word here, considering Loki's colorful use of insults earlier in the day. "I just don't see them overcoming literal centuries of hatred in a few months." She had needed much longer to fully trust Clint and vice versa, and they hadn't been archenemies. "Their friendship is definitely a work in progress, and with the added stress of the Tesseract search..."

"...it could fall apart like a bad teen romance," Fury interjected, grimacing at his own words. "God knows, we're already up for enough drama between Stark and Rogers. "

Er, right, Phil had told her about that train-wreck of a first meeting. He had been so very confused about how anyone could dislike the saintly Captain America, but she would bet that it all boiled down to massive daddy issues and some grating righteousness.

Clashing personalities and rivalries between agents weren't uncommon at SHIELD; conflicts like that only presented a problem when they endangered a mission. That was exactly the kind of scenario her boss was worried about.

The leather of his coat creaked against that of the chair as he leaned forward and regarded her intently, with his chin resting on steepled fingers. "You recommended each of these men for the Avengers and I agreed with your assessments." Except in the case of Stark, but he had good reason for ignoring her advise there. "I know it'd be better if we could utilize their skills separately, but we've only got the backing for _one_ team. So, Agent Romanoff, please tell me there's a goddamned way of making them work together like actual fucking adults."

Okay, now they were getting to the real purpose of this briefing.

The Avengers Initiative had been Fury's pet project for more than a decade. Nevertheless, the details around it were highly classified, which had prompted the agents with lower clearance levels to speculate wildly and those above level 6 to clam up as if they'd been robed into a plot to assassinate the president. Though it's importance couldn't be denied, it had still taken years for the Initiative to turn from an idea into something tangible. Mostly, that was the fault of the slow grinding wheels of bureaucracy.

The director of SHIELD could make a lot of decisions without asking for permission. He could hire and fire agents, make structural changes to the agency and spent a ridiculous sum of money on the newest tech gadgets. Requesting outside help, from a bunch of civilians no less, required the blessing of the World Security Council, though. And those select politicians had been hellbent on nixing the project before it even got on its feet.

If it had been a matter of funding alone, they could have probably counted on the help of a certain billionaire, after promising to name a Helicarrier after him. The simple truth, however, was that the WSC thought a superhero team to protect the world from supervillains was not needed at all.

Natasha may have gone on to secretly agree with them, if it hadn't been for her encounter with the Hulk. That _being_ wasn't necessarily evil, but he was definitely more than human, more than _gifted _and a regular agent was as helpless against him as a startled camper armed with a bread knife against a grizzly bear. As she'd watched the green giant getting shot at with all that the US military could muster - including tanks and helicopters - without receiving a single scratch, she had realized that there were missions and opponents one just could not prepare for. Frankly, she couldn't fight something that she wouldn't have been able to even think up in her wildest dreams.

Gathering people who were themselves a little beyond the norm, to deal with threats that would have overwhelmed SHIELD, was a stroke of brilliance. Leaving aside the fact that one of those people was the host of the Hulk and that he was genuinely the most well-adjusted of the group.

Folding her hands on her lap and smiling at Fury she said, "Honestly, sir, the team should run smoothly if we handle them correctly." Surprised to hear a contradiction to her earlier statement, he raised a single black eyebrow but did not bother to interrupt her before she could explain. "Banner seems to get along with everyone and he was interested enough in the science behind the Tesseract to leave his hideout. We just have to accept that he doesn't like to bring out his green friend."

He did have control over it, though; that she'd figured out quickly enough. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to trick her into revealing her back-up without also leveling the hut she'd met him in.

"Stark will likely get on everyone's nerves, at some point or another," she went on, smirking as she saw the director nod in agreement. "But he can be charming if he wants to and he made a good start on befriending our visiting royalty. On that note, he's already gotten the okay from Odinson to experiment on him."

She'd thrown that last part in just to see how the other agent would react.

With as much concern as he ever let shine through, he asked, "Do we have to warn him against dissecting the aliens?"

Had they been talking about any of the SHIELD scientists, she would have dismissed that possibility; they were a curious lot but not suicidal. Tony was a special case of reckless, though. On the other hand, the aliens in question were not exactly of the helpless, little green men variety.

"Hm, I wouldn't worry about it too much. His insurance probably covers stab wounds to any vital body parts." Although the usual "act of God" clause might prove a problem. "As to Thor and Loki, surrounding them with superheroes might be good for them."

"Why, because the Hulk can play referee for their epic fights?"

Yeah, that was also a valid point but not the one she'd been trying to make.

"No, because they behave differently when there's someone around that they want to impress," she clarified. Both Foster and Lewis had been great at curbing their friends' thirst for violence, not by being particularly intimidating or forceful but by putting the fear of disappointment in them. That was not an unusual attitude in a pair of princes; as candid as the Thunderer tended to be, even he had to have a public face. "We also have to consider that they're still young and impressionable." _They are only in their twenties_, she liked to remind herself, whenever the stupefying figure of their multiple-millennia-encompassing lifespan was brought up. "Someone like Steve Rogers could be a good influence."

"And the Captain himself will be happy enough to _have_ a team, no matter its composition," Fury commented, obviously speaking of himself, too. To be sure, he didn't have to like any of the Avengers, as long as they were doing well in the hero business.

"All right then," he said, pushing his chair away from the desk, and gesturing for her to get up, as well. "I guess we can't know how good a team they'll make until we test them out. Now that the thing's been located, retrieving the Tesseract might be just the trail run we need."

.........

Considering that they had been called to the third briefing in less than twenty-four hours, the general mood was surprisingly relaxed. No one was staring at their phone, or doodling on their folder, either. In fact, from the bits she'd caught as she walked through the door, the team, including Foster's crew, was intently listening to an anecdote of Ms. Lewis' college days; something involving a communal washing machine and a jar of honey.

Though the director had taken his seat at the head of the table, he didn't make a move to interrupt the story time. To his right, Rogers was getting the rundown of modern household appliances from a very patient Dr. Banner; she spotted Clint, leaning against the wall opposite the door, re-stringing his favorite bow. The archer laughed along with everyone else, as the story reached its punchline. The most vocal in his appreciation of the well-executed prank was Loki, who ruffled the intern's hair; fondly calling her "my little Tricksters", like a proud mentor.

A few hours of sleep had done him good; the bruises on his bare chest had nearly faded to nothing, his eyes looked fully alert again. Vain peacock that he was, he had, of course, gone to the trouble of styling his hair into a pretty array of braids before attending the briefing. The only time she'd ever seen him completely disheveled was after she had shot him, but she doubted a bullet wound would stop him from looking pristine now, with magic back under his skin.

Apparently, slamming into a wall hadn't dulled his cutting wit one bit, which he proved when he delivered a razor-sharp grin at the director, saying, "Ah, Nicolas Fury, I almost did not notice you there, as quietly as you snuck into the room. Were you waiting for me to leave before you shared your newest discoveries?"

Hah, so he _was_ still sour about the secrecy. No surprise there; the man could, after all, hold grudges that lasted for centuries. To get back in his good graces in a matter of hours might require a small miracle.

"No, you're welcome to stay. This whole meeting would be kind of pointless without you."

Or you could just go with simple directness.

Visibly caught off guard, Loki's face lost its aloof facade; what was left was honest confusion.

"How curious; I was under the impression that you would be well rid of me, now that I have failed to retrieve your precious trinket," the wizard replied, his honeyed tone doing little to hide his resentment.

He would stay, Natasha had no doubt, but he wanted to be asked properly, humbly. There was no chance of that happening here, no matter who in the room would have done the asking. But Fury was already gearing up for his own unique brand of buttering-up a reluctant ally.

"All right, just so we're clear; if you're expecting me to kiss your feet and beg forgiveness, you're shit out of luck, Mr. Laufeyson. This is _my_ base and I get to decide who knows what around here."

While his Index profile had described him as "easily provoked" it didn't seem like Loki was about to stab the director for his blunt rebuttal; on the contrary, he just sat there, head held high, patiently listening. Though, with his expression completely blank of all emotions, it was hard to predict what was going on in his head. The lack of an immediate reaction had her more worried than a sudden burst of violence would have, so she kept a wary eye on him. As did Thor.

With the Thunderer it could go either way; he might defend his friend's honor or defend everyone else _from_ him, if he made a move to lash out. It all depended on Fury's next words. Which was as comforting a thought as it would be to depend on Stark's impulse control.

"That being said, I'm ready to admit that it was a stupid decision to not let you in on the whole Tesseract business, seeing how you probably know more about it than anyone else on this planet."

There it was, the tried and true tactic of insult followed by flattery; she couldn't have sold it better herself. And now for the kill...

"I'll be happy to put all cards on the table, from now on, if you'll do the same. Starting with telling us what the hell happened in the warehouse."

In response, the prince of Jötunheimr smiled politely, his posture that of a trained diplomat. "I welcome your suggestion of a more forthright alliance," he said stiffly. "As to what happened... Well, I will not bore you with the details." When Tony interjected that "Hey, some people here thrive on details", he added, "I might present those at a later date."

He didn't wring his hands or avoid eye contact or show any of the obvious signs; it was the forced casualness in his tone that betrayed him, as he finally got to the point. "Suffice to say, that I walked into a trap."

Aww, he was embarrassed. Which was sort of pretentious because it implied that he didn't ever make mistakes. But even Thor looked aghast at the other's admission, so maybe Loki was a magical savant, who had an otherwise perfect success rate at crafting spells.

He wasn't nearly as great at crafting a report, however, which prompted Coulson to remark, "Er, we could actually do with a few more details on that." The agent had chosen a seat right next to Rogers and that he was able to take his attention off of his superhero crush was seriously impressive. "How do you know it was a trap?"

"Because scrying is not detectable by the person you are looking for, unless they have specifically guarded themselves against it. I must assume that our illusive thief was prepared to face a mage, for the moment that I espied the Cube, a ward was sprung, which blasted me with dark magic. You all saw the results of that miscalculation."

Fury, who couldn't care less about the wizard's professional pride, only wanted to know, "So, how dangerous is that stuff? Are we going to be forced to evacuate the whole city or...?"

Fortunately, for the inhabitants of Washington D.C., that emergency scenario would not have to be put into practice.

"Hm, that might prove an overreaction. Your people should be safe, as long as they keep well away from that warehouse," Loki claimed and then, oddly, turned to Thor to confirm a theory for him. "The natural forces of this realm will have stabilized within two or three days; would you not agree?"

Thinking that the blond alien was automatically less intelligent than the brunet would mean to give into antiquated stereotypes, and it would not do to underestimate either of them. But even their human friends looked startled that Thor could provide an answer.

"Aye, that seems a fair estimate," he said, like the scientist he wasn't.

Lewis almost draped herself over the silver-clad lap of the wizard in order to look the _other_ alien in the eye; her tone was inquisitive but without a hint of accusation when she asked, "Hang on, Big Guy, since when are _you_ the expert in things magical?"

Though Odinson himself was struggling to make sense of it, it turned out there was a logical explanation for his know-how in that department. "His father regularly siphons off some of the existing dark magic to keep Asgard afloat," Loki told them, the disgust dripping from his every word. "Therefore, he has some experience with that sort of energy, whereas I have none."

It could control a planet's orbit?

Natasha could see all the geniuses in the room practically salivating at that information and even she couldn't deny this was fascinating. Maybe she should suggest to the director that they sit the two men down, to record everything they new about the universe; it could potentially propel humanity forward several centuries. That was a project for a day, though, when they were done chasing after the glowing bauble that was deemed highly dangerous by the pair of Norse gods.

"Not that I want to deprive Mr. Stark of a valuable magic lesson," she teased, predicting the myriad of questions the engineer might have for the wizard, "but you didn't, per chance, get a good look at the thief when you 'espied' the Tesseract, did you?"

Laufeyson shook his head regretfully. "Sadly, no. It stands to reason, that the wards were designed to prevent exactly such intrusion of privacy. I just about managed to make out the Cube's surroundings before I was... halted in my search." In what seemed like an unconscious gesture, he rubbed the spot on his head that had collided with a slap of concrete. After heaving a despondent sigh he spoke up again, sounding unsure of his own skills. "Such an impression might not be very useful to us, however; your realm is, after all, rather vast and you are unlikely to recognize one building among many."

The thing about obnoxiously smart people was that they took every "you can't" and "you shouldn't" as a challenge to their intellect and, in some cases, to their inventions. So, naturally, with barely a moment's hesitation Stark pulled out the prototype of his company's newest phone and shoved it into a flustered blue face.

"Oh, honey, you've got no idea what we humans can do with the right tech." To indicate that the "right tech" was his own, he wriggled the phone around, his smile positively radiant. "How about you show me yours and I'll show you mine?"

Not to be outdone, or out-irritated, Loki cast his illusion right under the billionaire's nose, his amusement visible as a sparkle in his eyes. "There you go. Now it is your turn to amaze me with your prowess."

What they were shown from the magic front was a 3D model of an island, dotted with healthy green trees, in the midst of which stood the building that supposedly held the Tesseract; all of it grander than she would have expected.

"That's not a house; that's a castle," Rogers pointed out what had to be obvious to all, especially to the aliens who actually lived in places like that.

"Yep, it sure is, and therein lies the problem," Stark cut in flippantly, following it up with a seemingly disjointed command, "Hit us with the facts, J!"

From the phone a cultured British voice answered. "Right away, sir." Natasha knew it belonged to Stark's AI, JARVIS, who was far more self-aware than any computer program had a right to be. 'He' spoke politely enough, but there was always that patronizing air that, even considering who was responsible for it, was a weird character trait to code into one's virtual butler.

"This image depicts Boldt Castle, situated in the Thousand Islands region in the state of New York. It was built by hotel magnate George C. Boldt in 1900 as a summer home for his wife Louise. Currently it is operated by the Thousand Islands Bridge Authority, available for guided tours and popular as a scenic wedding venue."

"In other words, it's a fucking tourist attraction," Tony helpfully summarized.

Her experience let her identify at least eight potential hazards for this mission, from the unfavorable location to the smartphone-toting families. Everyone, including the man born before cheap airline tickets, had to at least realize that a bunch of civilians in the way of friendly or unfriendly fire would make their work ten times harder.

Everyone, except for the otherworldly visitors, on whose planets vacationing for the fun of it apparently hadn't taken hold yet.

"What is a tourist?" Thor asked, very clearly not comprehending the concern he could see on the others' faces. "Is it some kind of pest?"

Natasha had to hide her smile behind her hand when Banner drily replied, "You could say that."

But the sarcasm didn't help to breach their communication issues, which was where Dr. Selvig stepped in. The professor had been a quiet figure in the background so far, only observing but not participating in the briefing. _Probably taking notes for his next book_, she mused. Later, she'd have to check that he wasn't slipping in any classified information. SHIELD had only really let him get away with writing the first volume because it was regarded as "alternate history fiction" even by his publisher.

The man did have a deep understanding of both Asgard's and Jötunheimr's cultures, that came from living with the two princes for months but also from asking the right questions. And so, he knew how to make his friends understand him, too.

"Eh, never mind him; he's just joking," he said of his fellow scientist, darting an apologetic look at the other before continuing, "Actually, 'tourists' refers to a group of people; travelers, to be exact. Like the scholars of yours who come to Earth to study our culture, just, you know, that they already are from here."

How nice to hear that Asgard saw her world as a free of charge safari park or as a Petri dish of bacteria to study under a microscope. That would definitely not go over well with the Security Council. Though the more traditional among the politicians might agree with the "gods" ideas on personal freedoms.

"If they are your people, why can you not simply forbid them to enter the castle?" Thor suggested, because that was probably what his dad would have done.

Clint neatly explained the snag in that plan. "Yeah, we could do that. But that would mean we'll lose the element of surprise, in case the one we're looking for works there and hasn't just dropped the Tesseract into the moat by accident."

_Was_ there still a chance they could catch the thief off guard? Natasha wondered, just as her partner asked, "This scrying stuff doesn't work both ways, right?" Which Loki answered with a decisive "No". "So, they know someone's after them, but not who."

Oh, she knew where he was going with this. Hawkeye didn't often have sparks of genius, but the rarity of them made them all the more impressive.

"That means when can still get the jump on this crook if we go to the castle as regular tourists." He winked at her before petitioning their resident billionaire, "Hey Stark, care to sponsor our trip?"

"What'd you want me to do?" Tony asked, sounding a tad offended, "Buy the place?"

Well, it wasn't as though he would have had trouble finding the money, somewhere between his couch cushions. His reaction might stem from the fact that he didn't _need_ a castle, given the skyscraper he'd set up last week.

Clint's approach was less eccentric, by comparison.

"Nah, you only have to _rent_ it. For a day or so."

It didn't take much to get Tony to warm up to the idea, if only so that he could hold his "generosity" over Fury's head. "Hm, I guess I can write it off as a business expense," he said contemplative, unable to hide the grin at his own joke. Though, knowing him, she really should not dismiss the possibility that he'd try to put anything SHIELD related in his tax forms. Typing what she assumed to be instructions to JARVIS into his phone, he asked, "So, how many tickets should I book for this little team-building exercise?"

She would have thought he'd need some time to think it through, but the director seemed to have already made up his mind about the Avengers roster. "Captain Rogers, Odinson and Laufeyson and Dr. Banner, if he's willing to serve as back-up," he began to list the team members, continuing only when he received a begrudging nod from the scientist. "I'd like Agents Barton and Romanov on the ground as well; they have the most experience with this type of mission out of all of you."

Yes, and they also knew to keep an eye on the more volatile elements of this mismatched group.

"And _you'll _have to be there, too, of course, as SI's representative," Fury added, as if in an after-thought, smiling smugly when he saw that he'd rendered Stark speechless.

The inventor found his voice again pretty quickly, though, and was masking his surprise with the usual sarcasm, "Wow, Coach, you're taking me off the bench right from the start? And it only cost me what?"- He glanced down at his phone, to check the numbers - "Less than $4000. Damn, if I'd known a place on your all-star team would come so cheap, I could have saved millions in funding."

Yeah, he was not gonna let them live that down.

"Should I get us matching jerseys, before we head out?"

Judging by the throbbing vein in Fury's temple, they had better pack a few bottles of aspirin, too.

.........

To her everlasting dismay, they did not journey to New York in red-and-gold baseball gear. As they were pretending to be Stark Industry employees, helping their boss decide whether or not to make a big donation to the place, the preferred dress code was business casual.

Getting the men into button-down shirts and slacks hadn't taken too much time. The two aliens had conveniently gone shopping in anticipation of joining SHIELD, so their friends provided them with the suits they'd luckily brought along to the Triskelion; Stark's wardrobe, even when on the road, was extensive enough that he could lent something fitting to Banner, too; and the agents had several outfits used for undercover missions. Which left them only with a captain to suit up and, unfamiliar with this century as he was, he happily accepted what was thrown at him.

What took most of the day, though, was to equip everyone with the right toys.

The earpieces that were needed to ensure a seamless communication between them should have required nothing more than a quick introduction for those who'd never handled them before. Yet, as they discovered after one little test run, they had to come up with a work-around for Thor's lightning powers, which had a tendency to fry anything electrical. Also, Loki immediately complained that even the lowest volume was bound to render him deaf, so the settings had to be adjusted for him, as well. There was nothing to be done for the Hulk but she supposed that they'd be able to hear his dulcet tones anyway, with or without a microphone.

The next difficulty turned out to be weapons-related. Both of the blond heavy-hitters had been chosen to pose as Stark's bodyguards; a task that gave them the freedom to move independently from the tour group, in guise of sweeping the area for pesky paparazzi, and allowed them to openly carry a gun at their hips. While it was questionable that Odinson even knew how to fire a gun, he was perfectly okay with leaving his hammer behind, because he could call "her" to him at will. Hawkeye simply hid his bow in a briefcase just as Iron Man hid his portable suit of armor. But the Widow's Bite would have been out of place on the wrist of a legal advisor and the famous shield was much too bulky to be covered by a jacket.

Consequently, Natasha was excited by the possibilities when the wizard suggested, "I could veil your weapons in shadow, if you like."

Damn, that could have come in handy in so many of her missions.

In spite of all that she'd encountered in her line of work, she was still skeptical of the supernatural, especially when she'd seen no evidence of it. "You can do that? I thought it was only yourself that you could make invisible," she said, because he had already proven that he was able to do the latter.

In response to her lack of confidence in him, Loki raised one expressive eyebrow, somehow conveying without words that she had no idea what he was capable of. Which was likely true. The full list of his and Thor's skills would, no doubt, make her long for a strong bottle of vodka.

Surprisingly, Steve didn't have much of a problem with believing in magic; he just seemed hesitant to trust it. "Would that be safe, though?" he asked, leaning protectively on his shield. "This thing here is one of a kind and irreplaceable, I think."

It was, even if someone had managed to scrap together enough Vibranium to attempt a replica. As a symbol of Captain America only the real deal would do and to remember a time long past, something shiny and new wouldn't work, either.

"Can you make out any sign that I am carrying daggers on my person?" Loki challenged, spreading his arms wide for ease of inspection. The black suit he wore fit too perfectly to leave room for hidden storage, definitely not for the short-sword he liked so much, though she wouldn't have put it past him to smuggle a knife up each sleeve. "You cannot," he replied himself, when no one else would. "That is because I veiled them. And believe me, I would not use a spell that bares the risk of merely scratching them, for my daggers are as precious to me as your shield is to you, Captain."

It figured that he would be able to sympathize with the nostalgia that clung to a simple object, as every one of his weapons had to have a history spanning back further than the middle ages.

Loki himself had a history of demonstrating his powers in order to gain permission to use them, so she wasn't the least bit startled when Steve's priced possession vanished before her eyes. And Rogers didn't look at all upset about it, either.

"Still there?" she guessed, because by the way he held his arm, the weight of the metal hadn't gone with the sight of it.

He smiled sheepishly at her, then nodded. "Yep, still there. And I'm guessing you can't see it. But I can. Wait, why can _I_ see it?"

"Because I excluded you from the spell," the wizard explained gleefully. "Otherwise, it would be rather impractical, do you not think so?"

After that little stunt, and after seeing the captain's pleased reaction to his invisible shield, the others were eager to secure some weapons upgrades for themselves. That was how their arsenal got stocked up with invisible arrows, guns and Tasers.

Following that was a last run-through of the plan, on the role that each of them was to play, on how much force was to be used, in case they got the chance to apprehend the thief.

It was late afternoon when they finally made their way to New York in a quinjet, and by the looks of it, they hadn't left a second too soon. The anticipation for some simple action was palpable in the air, not unlike with a group of rookies on their first assignment. But the people around her weren't naive Academy graduates; they were anxious for a fight precisely because they could grasp the seriousness of the situation and because they were about as thrilled with the agonizingly slow preparations as she.

The subsequent boat ride could almost have been called pleasant, as long as she ignored Roger's snide comments about Stark owning a yacht, Stark pettily detailing what other luxuries he'd bought with his own hard-earned money, and Odinson and Laufeyson bickering over something unrelated in Asgardian. During the half hour it took to reach the island, she exchanged long-suffering glances with Banner and relied on Clint to scout the area ahead.

Once there, however, they put aside their personal conflicts and got ready to do their job, slipping into the persona they'd previously been assigned.

Tony was all smiles when he greeted their tour guide, in the manner of a born and bred businessman. "Ms. Baxter, thank you so much for squeezing us in on such short notice. I'm sure you had to disappoint a lot of eager tourists by closing off the place today."

The woman was clearly charmed, if not by his winning personality, then by the implication that the castle would otherwise be bursting with visitors. "Oh, it is no trouble, Mr. Stark. This is only the second week of the season and we are always happy to welcome people with a special interest in our work."

"Big donors", she meant, but as that was officially why there were here, there was no need to point out that she probably wouldn't have done the same for some nerdy college kids.

They went through a round of introductions and obligatory handshakes, then sedately walked the path from the dock to the castle proper. At the entrance Stark remembered his "bodyguards".

"Hey, would it be all right if these two did a bit of a security check?" He gestured with a thumb at the nearly identical dark-suited figures behind him – blond, blue-eyed, broad-chested, and intimidating to anyone who'd never witnessed them trying to make sense of the 21th century.

As the guide offered no objections, Rogers and Odinson melted away from the group, one going left the other right. Thankfully, they both knew how to spot the Tesseract, from personal experience and, she assumed, from nursery school lessons.

Dr. Banner headed for the café where he'd have the peace and quite to "crunch the numbers", though the machine he'd brought along wasn't a notebook but a scanner that was supposed to pick up unusual radiation.

The rest of them soon found themselves in The Grand Hall; a room that resembled the lobby of a fancy hotel more than the parlor of a family's summer house. The history about it, that Ms. Baxter was cheerfully reciting, was likely really interesting, but Natasha only listened to it with one ear, while focusing most of her attention on marking all possible exits. Including the door at her back, there were four – two leading to adjacent parts of the castle, one leading to the upper floors.

The large, brightly lit room didn't have any shadowy alcoves or even some antique vase that one could have dumped a glowing blue cube in. Not that she had hoped it would be made that easy for them.

The ball room to their right offered even less of interest, except for an opportunity for Clint to tease Loki. "Well, Your Highness, I bet you're feeling right at home here," he said, with an admiring loot at the stucco on the walls, the polished wood floor.

The prince just shrugged his shoulders. "Er, I was never much of a dancer." He scratched at the back of his neck, visible for once because he'd done something to shorten his hair. Had to be magic, as she was sure he would never actually cut it off.

She had to agree with her fellow agent, though; even dressed in an off-the-rack suit and without his elegant braids, Loki did look like the kind of person who'd sit in one of those upholstered chairs and take his tea from delicate china cups. There was no question that he had a taste for the finer things in life.

"'Tis quite beautiful, I have to admit. Not near as ostentatious as most houses to which I was invited."

Back in the Grand Hall he'd been transfixed by the domed glass ceiling, too, whereas Natasha could only think of the hail of shards that would rain down on them, if they were attacked from above. No matter that the beauty of the place was lost on her, she still followed the group as they climbed up the stairs to the second floor.

The tour guide immediately launched into a moving biography of whichever Boldt family member she was showing them the bedroom of; Natasha had to clamp down on the urge to look beneath the beds and throw open the closet doors, because everything else was out in the open and these were the only possible hiding places.

An evil lair this place was not.

More and more she got the impression that they'd been lured here as a distraction or as a way for the thief to play with them. It might have been safer to leave a couple of the Avengers at the Triskelion.

Unnerved by her own thoughts she took out her phone, intent on calling Coulson to get an update on the situation in D.C. Just then, a different line of communication was established.

"Hi, can you guys here me?" Banner's voice traveled through her earpiece, sounding as excited as she'd ever heard the man. To disguise their conversation, she lifted up her phone and nodded to her "boss", who had to at least pretend to sill pay attention to the tour they were given.

"Yes, this is Stark Industries Legal Department, Natalie Rushman speaking. How can I help you?"

"Rushman, right," he replied, thankfully not wasting time wondering about her alias. "Okay, so I think I've found something. I'm just not sure-" There was a crinkling sound down the line, as if Banner was shuffling papers, though a moment later she realized that it was the wind that messed with his mic. He had to be outside and moving around, hopefully not running after the thief. "Our sensors are detecting some kind of weird energy; could be magic or the Tesseract or both," he went on, now a little out of breath. "The problem is that I keep losing the signal, and I can't make out the exact location. But it pops up again and again, almost rhythmically, like a pulse."

Yeah, that seemed promising. And just a bit ominous.

With the biochemist still talking into the comms - most of which jargon that only his fellow science bro would appreciate - Natasha waved over the one person she thought capable of making sense of this.

The wizard had been taking in the rooms with an inquisitive eye, and running careful hands over every surface. Was there a spell that worked through touch or had he been hoping to find some secret compartment, similar to her own inspection?

It had, in any case, not stopped him from listing in on the conversation or from seeing her subtle gesture. In two quick, long strides he was by her side, quietly answering her unasked question, "I cannot feel what Banner described yet that does not mean there _is nothing_ to feel."

"The wards?" she guessed; that, to her, seemed the only thing that could prevent a wizard from sensing magic.

Loki nodded solemnly, one hand on the belt of invisible knifes. "I should go and observe this myself. If I manage to get _inside_ them, I might be able to break the protections."

That he hadn't just rushed down the stairs and done his magic, when he so obviously wanted to, was a sign that he was prepared to work with the team. Nevertheless, she felt it prudent to remind him, "Fine, but if you find something, tell us about it. No heroics, okay?"

He took a moment to think that over, probably to evaluate what counted as heroic, before he sketched a bow at her. "As you will, my lady," he said with a smile in his voice, then he walked calmly past her towards the ground floor.

No one had voted her the Avengers' handler, but someone had to keep track of them all and as her esteemed colleagues didn't see fit to report their status themselves, she went on to make several more "calls".

"Rogers, anything interesting on your end?"

She was met with more than a minute of silence, in which she imagined the captain was tapping repeatedly on his earpiece to find the "on" button, which didn't exist. As fancy as SI technology could be, it was usually pretty intuitive.

"Rogers here," was his clipped, professional reply. "Negative on the interesting, ma'am. I talked to a few construction workers, but they've all been working here for years and they can't remember anyone new joining the crew."

A pity. That line of questioning had been a long shot, of course. A person shrewd enough to steal into a SHIELD facility by impersonating the director, and cautious enough to magically mask their presence, wouldn't betray their identity by taking on a summer job.

Thor's assignment of chatting up the people at the dock and the ticked booth didn't seem to have born fruit, either.

"No strange visitors have come to the island, of late," the god boomed into his mic; he did not really struggle with the technology, he just didn't have an indoor voice. "The kind elderly man who takes care of the boats said jokingly that we are the strangest lot he has seen here in twenty years."

Right. Natasha had a hard time believing that was meant as a joke. The eccentric billionaire and his entourage would be a far cry from the vacationing families and happy newlyweds. But twenty years of people watching was a long time; and if this man was certain that he hadn't ferried any odd fellows with space-bending cubes under their arm to the island, she thought they could trust his judgment.

It was, perhaps, best to abandon the idea that they were looking for a staff member or a sneaky tourist. Though, what option did that leave them with?

Wrecking her brain for what she knew of the Tesseract's, she trailed behind Clint, who had decided to brave the third, as of yet unfinished, story of the castle, where he was welcomed by the Operations Manager, the man overseeing the renovation. They'd given the archer a similar job at SI, on account of him being the sole Avenger with some experience in menial work and - as only a handful of people knew - actually having built his own house by himself.

He was also a really talented spy.

When targets were interrogated by Black Widow they noticed it; they might not always notice how much she learned from them but her methods made it rather difficult for them to mistake a few hours alone with her as a friendly chat. Hawkeye, on the other hand, was so easygoing and, dare she say, folksy, that people told him things that he had no business knowing because they saw no harm in sharing it with him.

At the moment he weaseled out the names of all suppliers, architects, civil engineers and interns who'd ever worked on this island, while the manager probably thought the nice Midwesterner was just going to use that information for his own home improvement projects.

Acknowledging that her partner had everything well in hand, Natasha then thought to join Stark. He was only here as an alibi for their visit, but who knew what his celebrity status could gain them?

Her plans were, once again, waylaid be a voice in her ear.

"I have it," Loki said, apropos of nothing, his tone pitched to a stage whisper.

Drama queen.

"The cube?" she asked, just to hear him confirm it. This really was a bad time for guessing games.

"Aye; I believe so," he replied, a bit more sharply now. For some reason he appeared nervous, but maybe that was just what he sounded like when he was excited. "If one of you would be so kind as to come here; I have never actually beheld the thing with my own eyes before."

Weird, she had assumed he had at least seen it in a book or something; he _was_ the magic expert, after all.

But, then, he was quite self-conscious about making mistakes.

"All right, Laufeyson; I'm on my way." She did not run but took the stairs two at a time, without actually knowing where her slippery team member had disappeared to. _Down_ seemed a safe direction to take, all things considered.

When she was in the Grand Hall with its four exists, she did have to ask him for a more detailed heading, however.

"At the back of the castle there is a tunnel; I discovered it on accident."

He kept a running commentary of how she had to go down another flight of stairs, walk along a moldy green tapestry, pass several dusty barrels and then - because she'd spent a lot of boring hours in safe-houses with other agents - she almost expected him to announce that the final boss was right around the corner.

Instead, there was he, standing in front of a wall of picturesque windows that gave his figure an eerie glow, pointing one elegant finger at the pool at his feet.

The pool was not deep, and not nearly wide enough to swim in. The little puddle of water that had collected in there could be mistaken for turquoise in the right light but, apart from this and a few coins that must have come from tourists misusing it as wishing well, it was empty.

"There's nothing in there," she told him, with a good touch of skepticism.

For all she knew, he could see something that remained invisible to her human eyes, but it still rubbed her the wrong way when he all but commanded, "Look closer!"

On a day, now over a year ago, she had gone to apologize for almost killing him; even then he had never tried to threaten her. But with his green eyes narrowed and voice so very cold, he seemed like a different person, like something primal instincts told her to run the hell away from.

She could not explain to herself why she complied with his command or why, when she heard footsteps behind her, she didn't turn around. But, inexplicable or not, she took one, two steps forward, stared as hard as she could into the water and, when she felt a bolt of pure ice run down her spine, for a moment all she saw was white.

Afterwards, she looked up at Loki, who greeted her with a genuine happy smile.

"There, now you understand," he said, so very kindly.

"Yes," she said and found it was true. She understood everything, perfectly.

"Then you know what we must do."

It was not a question but, between the two of them, those were no longer necessary.

Relieved to end this mission, Natasha reached up to her earpiece and informed the others, "Sorry, everyone, false alarm. I think we should head back to the Triskelion; we've got work to do."

_Oh yes_, Loki mouthed, offering her another companionable smile, before both their eyes landed on the object of their search.

The Tesseract, sitting peacefully in the middle of the pool, sharing its light with them. And so much more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much worldbuilding here, just a little disclaimer;
> 
> Boldt Castle is an actual tourist attraction that I stumbled upon when I was looking for castles in the US.  
I've sadly never visited it but thanks to some really awesome YouTube videos I feel as though I have.  
One of those videos showed a pool underground, filled with coins, which was the inspiration for the last scene of this chapter.
> 
> So, what do you guys think? What happened to our dear Black Widow? And has Loki suddenly switched sides?
> 
> As I left you with a cliffhanger, I will try to update again soon. I'll probably post the next two chapters together, if I manage to write fast enough.  
I'm looking forward to your comments and to getting to the plot that has been sitting in my head ever since I started imagining a sequel for Two Sons.  
And, I promise you, the true villain will come into play very soon! *Mwahahaha* 
> 
> See you all next chapter!


	7. Four changed minds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mind, once made up, can still be open to change on many subjects; on who is an enemy or a friend; whether to fight or make peace; and on when to kill or stay your hand. Most times, these changes come gradually. Sometimes, they arrive all too sudden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone!  
I'm happy to provide you with some light reading, now that we are all advised to spend more time in-doors.  
I hope you're all well and in good spirits, despite real life kicking us in the teeth.
> 
> Stay safe, my dear readers.  
And have a nice distracting read!

.........

TO

.........

"So, what was it that you found?" was the first thing he could think to ask, when they were finally alone together. He did not wish to embarrass his friend, therefor he had waited until he had come up with a legitimate reason to leave their companions behind. To that end, he had insisted on one last circuit around the island, just to be sure that the thief had truly escaped them. Receiving no answer for a good while, he decided to clarify, "Instead of the cube, I mean."

Only then did Loki even acknowledge his presence, although it had been _he_ who had sought Thor out and not the other way around. "Does it matter? It was obviously _not _the Cosmic Cube," he replied, his tone dismissive, his stride that of a soldier; brisk and purposeful, as though he had somewhere important to be. Or to get away from.

Thankful that their similar height and endurance made it easy to keep pace, Thor walked beside his fellow prince, trying to take some of the sting out of his earlier words with a touch of humour. "Aye, the Lady Natasha was clear enough on that. But you would not mistake just any bauble for an Infinity Stone, would you?"

Frankly, that should not have been possible because Loki, of all people, would have felt the magic in the Cube or the lack thereof.

The mage's response was appropriately snappish. "There was no bauble; my eyes were deceived, that is all." Not leaving any room to wonder at the particulars of that deception, he whipped his head around and spat out a truly staggering accusation. "Unless you think that I stole the Cube for my own sinister schemes."

Thor felt as if he had been punched in the chest. _Why do you fear that I assume the worst of you? _he might have asked, yet he could answer that question well enough on his own. Because he had done just that too often in their shared past; had called the other man a fiend, a villain, a monster.

That he would no longer stoop to such baseless insults did not mean Loki was not justifiably angry about them. And he certainly was angry; no matter that his masks usually hid his emotions near perfectly, somehow the negative ones had a tendency to shine through.

For the sake of the peace between them, Thor was quick to placate the other. "No, of course I do not think that. You are no fool, to play with dangerous forces like these." He would not even touch dark magic, which was several shades less lethal. All in all, the Trickster was not half as reckless as he liked to appear; he would not put his life or that of others at risk for a bit of power.

Sadly, Thor's opinion on his erstwhile enemy was not the only one that counted.

"Yet your father seemed to feel the need to protect the realms from my evil wiles when he ordered you to keep the Cube a secret from me."

Well, he ought to have known that one measly apology would not mend the breach of trust he had created, if not by outright lying to his friend, then by following an order he himself had deemed entirely unfair.

"My father might think that necessary, yes. But you must know that I do not agree with him."

With a heavy heart he looked away from Loki's stony face and focused his attention on their surroundings. The park on the castle grounds was quite beautiful; not as lavish as the Asgardian royal garden but it still calmed his mind a little. He wondered if a certain disguised Jötunn had ever roamed the garden as he was roaming the park now.

"You obeyed him, nonetheless," he commented, voice tinged with bitterness and disappointment. "You were doing me a favour, 'tis true. That spells a pitiful existence, though, for me to have freedom of movement only when it is granted to me by Odin or you. Would you have me thank you for it each time, like a prisoner being let out of his cell for a breath of fresh air?"

A few hours ago Loki _had_ thanked him for getting him passage to Midgard and he had sounded sincere then. Where had this sudden resentment come from? Had it been there before and he to blind to notice?

Thinking back on the peace talks and how they had both argued for a more balanced accord between their realms, he still felt ashamed of his people's conduct. He had been swimming against the current then, demanding changes that the Council had refused to even contemplate.

"I require no thanks." Mainly because that would imply the other prince was indebted to him, which left a foul taste in his mouth. "And I like these unjust restrictions placed on Jötunheimr no more than you do. Yet what can I do about them, apart from declaring them thus to anyone who would listen?"

They were dismally few who would listen to him denounce the old, hatful prejudices so prevalent among the Aesir and fewer still who would agree that the Jötnar not being monsters in truth meant they should not be treated as a threat. It was a different sort of battle than he was used to but Thor thought it worth fighting, even so.

However, the very last opponent he was prepared to face on that particular battlefield was Loki.

"I know not why you would do even that much," the mage wondered aloud. He had come to a stop at a little fountain admits a circle of flowers and was trailing his right hand through it, dyeing the water a riot of colours. "What care have you for the woes of Frost Giants?" With a flick of his wrist the water froze, creating a rainbow-hued ice sculpture and turning the spray of water in the air into snow.

There was a dangerous undertone in his voice, familiar and, therefore unnerving. A tone that preceded a vicious bout of mischief, or betrayed a yet to be discovered prank. Thor had hoped he would never hear this kind of foreboding menace again, especially as he could not recall having done anything that would warrant retaliation.

Carefully, as though he were approaching a temperamental horse, he placed a hand on the other man's shoulder, saying, "I care about your woes because you are my friend, Loki."

Up until that moment, the Jötunn had been wearing his Aesir disguise but now he shook it off in favour of his natural shape; he did, however, not shake off the hand from his shoulder. "So you keep insisting," he remarked snidely, discarding that notion as something ludicrous, a childish fancy. "Friendship should involve at least a semblance of equality, though. And I will never be your equal, even if I were destined to take the throne myself. Asgard's boot will always be on my back, threatening to crush me."

What could be said to that which had not been said before? Sometimes it felt like they were having the same conversation over and over again; continuously airing out the same old grievances. But this whole talking business, however tiresome, had helped in the past, so he would go on employing it to staff off future conflicts. If that meant that he had to reaffirm promises already given, when Loki clearly needed to hear them, he would do that without complaint.

"It will be different once I am king; you have my word," he swore earnestly, squeezing the other's shoulder, unbothered by the cold that was not yet biting, and wishing he could look him in the eye. But he had his back to Thor; which made it hard to gauge whether he had said enough. "We will have peace, my people and yours, and you will be free to go wherever you wish."

A lofty promise that, yet one he meant to keep.

In response, his friend turned around, facing him, and only too late did he realise that the smile that greeted him was not a happy one.

"No, Odinson. I will _take_ my freedom; you will not give it to me."

Something flashed through the air, too fast for him to see, and then he staggered backwards, a dagger logged between his ribs.

As he pulled the blade free he discovered that the cut was not very deep, so he had to conclude it was the shock that had knocked the breath from his lungs.

"Why?" he asked, stupefied and hurt, far beyond the physical wound.

Red eyes, glowing with their own inner fire, regarded him like a predator did its prey. "You ask me why? Because this has been our Fate, from the moment we first met. To spill each other's blood until the ground is drenched in it, to claw at each other's throats until only one of us is left standing. And I have decided that will be _me_."

Already a new set of daggers was summoned to the mage's hands; magic came to life around the two of them, so potent that it produced an audible hum.

_We have been here before,_ he recognized, dread flooding his veins. On the day of his botched coronation he, too, had been convinced that his enemy had to be defeated once and for all and that no other could deal the final blow. Yet, to stand by this conviction now would require that he ignore the lessons they had learned during their banishment.

"If that was indeed our Fate, then we have defied it," he declared, voice raised in desperation. "There is peace between us."

Loki had once warned that the truce their realms had forged would require no more than a little push to shatter. Was their friendship just as brittle? He would not have believed so before today, yet the volley of untamed power directed at his head made a convincing case for the end of any good relations.

While he danced out of the way of deadly green flames, his unsought opponent continued to provoke him. "You may find your peace in Valhalla, Thunderer, and I mine when I send you there."

The taunt was followed by a thrown dagger which narrowly missed Thor's heart. Fortunately, he had twisted his body aside quickly enough to only sacrifice the left sleeve of his suit.

Yet the intend to kill had been all too plain.

Time, then, to accept that this was no mere argument and that, for once, talking it through would serve them naught. Violence seemed inevitable, but he did not have to take part in it; he could still refuse to be baited.

"I will not fight you, Loki!" he insisted, backing down from a challenge for possibly the first time in his life. But it should not be too difficult to stay his hands; aside from the gun that SHIELD had given him - which he scarcely knew how to use - he was unarmed and un-armoured.

On a normal day, the disparity between him and the mage, with his plethora of knifes and the magic crackling over his skin, would have served as a deterrent. No warrior of honour would have struck a defenceless man; a principle that was respected throughout the Nine.

But such moral quandaries were of little import now, when hatred burned away all sense, all thought.

"Ach, you poor fool," Loki said, mockingly, "I am not going to give you a choice."

True to his word, he prowled forward, freezing the grass wherever he set his feet, and set the air ablaze with unvoiced spells.

Not willing to call Mjölnir to him just yet, Thor could only duck and sidestep to evade each new charge. Even had he wanted to fight back, he would have found that far from simple; the mage's attacks were so rapid and scattered, it was like walking through a swarm of bees.

However, remaining passive for long might not be a viable option, either. Sooner or later, a bolt of power or a cursed blade would hit something vital, which the cloth he was garbed in would not be sturdy enough to block. As unhappy as it made him, he would have to...

"Stark has been hit," a voice intoned over the communications device in his ear. It took him a moment to identify the speaker as Barton. "I repeat, Stark has been hit. Does anyone copy?"

Although he was otherwise occupied, he answered anyhow, for none of the others seemed within hearing range. "This is Thor. What has happened to our shield-brother?"

"Beats me. But he's out cold; almost stumbled over him when I came down the stairs." The archer sounded calm but slightly out of breath, as though he truly had taken a fall.

Duty to the realm and the agreement he had signed with SHIELD demanded that he offer his aid. Impossible, though, to leave the battle behind and to turn his back to his opponent when he was likely to be stabbed in it.

"I am sorry," he said, his eyes on a nasty purple-coloured, spiked vine snaking its way over the grass towards him. "I have... something else to take care of."

There came no outcry at his refusal to help. Instead, the mortals began a discussion over which of them should join Barton in guarding their fallen comrade. Banner, to him, seemed the most logical choice, for the man had at least some experience in healing. In spite of that, the lady Natasha overruled them all, stating rather sharply that, "I'm closest. Be with you in a minute, Hawkeye."

That was the last he heard of the others, for a good while; he counted himself lucky for it. It would not have done to be distracted as he attempted to shoot the vine which threatened to strangle him. Firing bullets at the plant's caster, and therefore a bigger target, might have been easier but this he could not, _would_ not do. Not yet.

His struggles must have been discernible through the communicator or his earlier refusal vague enough to arise suspicions, because suddenly the captain inquired, "What's your status, Thor? Have you eyes on the goon who took the Tesseract?"

Oh, how to explain this without... Without what? Incriminating his friend? Perhaps, that would have been advisable, for all that it felt like betrayal. At the very least, he had to warn everyone away from their field of battle.

"Loki is... behaving oddly," he replied, fumbling for words that would not cause alarm. "I am trying to contain him."

Steve Rogers apparently did not like the sound of that. "Odd how?" he asked, voice full of concern. "Do you need help?"

"No," Thor said, with vehemence. Help would have been appreciated, especially if he had to engage the Trickster's doubles. Regardless, he could not put the other man in danger. All too vividly, he remembered combatting a mage while in mortal form. Remembered failing. _Dying_. "No, I shall manage on my own," he assured the soldier, then he took the little machine out of his ear. 

Whatever was to happen now, he wanted no audience for it.

Loki, meanwhile, seemed to have paid the exchange no mind. Near carelessly he flipped a blade in the air and caught it, before hauling it in the direction of his opponent. And, like that, their battle continued, as if it had never been interrupted.

After collecting as many minor injuries as he would have when facing a small army, he conceded that he had to change tactics. Genuinely regretting the necessity of it, he summoned Mjölnir and let the enchantments on her replace the Midgardian suit with his armour. The hammer itself, though, he would only use to deflect those spells that he could not dodge. That was the gist of his plan.

Yet when he struck out with his fist, to dissolve what he believed to be an illusion, he instead hit the actual Jötunn in the jaw, who then smirked at him in triumph; having finally gotten what he wanted. And Thor knew that holding back now would amount to sacrificing himself to the other's madness.

The ensuing battle was unlike any in the long centuries of their enmity.

On Jötunheimr they had fought with similar abandon and lack of care for their own survival, but then, as in any other confrontation in the past, they had been enjoying themselves. Neither of them had treated it as a game, yet they had welcomed the chance to face a worthy opponent and that, well-matched as they were, the fight could have gone on for days.

But at the moment Thor was too focused on not doing any serious harm to feel the usual thrill of the storm in his veins and Loki...

There was no grace to his movements, no clever tricks to hand. He fought with the recklessness and restlessness of a Berserker, and seeing him like this, it became all the more reasonable that Asgard so rarely availed itself of that class of legendary warriors, outside of an all-out war.

What made them formidable in battle turned them into a liability once peace was reached, for they would not stop at killing their enemies but would go on to snuff out all life around them. That craze had naught to do with the individual's personality; rather it was an enchantment on their weapons which brought out the wielder's darker side, making him appear as though possessed by bloodlust.

Wait. Possession – could that be at the heart of Loki's unprovoked rage?

Was there anyone powerful enough on this realm to bend the Trickster's will? Had there been enough time for that to occur? Was there a way to detect it?

Frigga would have been able to answer all of those questions and so would Odin. Unfortunately, they had not seen fit to teach their sons more than the essentials of magical theory. That limited knowledge was not helpful in determining whether one's friend had his mind taken over by some unknown evil.

Just in case, it would be prudent not to hurt him. Not that Thor had wanted to, in the first place, but he had to be even more cautious if there was the slightest chance that Loki was not fighting him willingly. Talking him into surrendering was impossible at this point but if he could be backed into a corner, he might yet be subdued.

With that idea in mind, the Thunderer used Mjölnir for her intended purpose for the first time this day; calling down lightning form the skies and letting it strike the ground in front of the bewitched Jötunn. And then behind him, and so forth.

That he let himself be chased by lightning without once escaping through the hidden branches on Yggdrasil all but proved he was not free in his choices. The villain controlling him did not know what he was capable of, Thor reckoned. Which would also explain why he used his powers more like a battering-ram and not with his usual three-steps-ahead forethought.

This single-mindedness was a blessing in disguise because it allowed him to manoeuvre the other man away from the open expanse of the park and towards the building where the human warriors might still be busy searching for the damnable Cosmic Cube.

When he had him pinned against the castle wall, Mjölnir pressed against his chest, the mage threw out curses left and right yet he did so rather ineffectually, as though he could not fully comprehend the predicament he was in.

_He does not know that he cannot move the hammer. _That was a sobering thought but likely the correct one, for all that. It cemented the fact that this truly was not the son of Laufey and, instead, some cruel lowlife who used his body like a puppet.

Aware that this was doubtlessly futile, he tried to appeal to his friend's better nature, one last time. "Come now, you have to fight this!", he implored, gripping a blue shoulder as though he could shake the other out of his trance. "Fight whoever is controlling you; do not give in!"

It would have been arrogant to assume that his words evoked the change - maybe the Norns themself had plucked at the wayward thread during their weaving - yet from one moment to the next the hatred in the red eyes before him dimmed and only fear was reflected in them.

"Thor?" a thin voice asked, unsure. The speaker had to take a few frantic breaths and though he sounded nothing like him, it was unmistakably Loki himself who said, "Thor, I cannot push him down for long. Please help me."

_Him? _

So, he had been right. He wished he could feel relieved by this.

"What can I do, my friend?" Keeping Mjölnir firmly in place, he used his other hand to cup the nape of the Jötunn's neck; a familiar gesture he had so often bestowed on Baldr, when his little brother was upset. How could he possibly be of help? By breaking this possession with a spell he had no knowledge of?

Perhaps, with the right instructions...

"You _know_ what you must do," Loki replied, eerily composed, though tears were shining in his eyes.

No. No, not this; he could not...

They had changed, had altered their Fates, what good was any of that if it still came down to one of them falling at the hands of the other?

He wanted to refuse outright because the thought alone made him ill, but he could not close his ears to the other man's pleas.

"You have to. If he takes over, I will betray all I love." A shaking hand held out a blade, like a peace offering, although it was the exact opposite. "Please, Thor, I beg of you, do not let him turn me into a monster."

Appalled, he shook his head, denying the need for such drastic measure, for what, to him, would be cold-blooded murder. The image of him carrying Loki's lifeless body home, their little family's reaction at the sight of him, that would haunt him until the end of his days.

No, he could not do this.

Before he quite managed to apologise for his selfish reluctance, he saw a spark of bright blue shine in the Jötunn's eyes and a sinister smile spread over his face.

He had hesitated too long.

But even confronted with the evil that had seized his friend's mind, he knew he could not do as asked. Not while there was a chance that Loki could be saved.

So, with a silent prayer to the Norns, Thor hefted his hammer and, ere even the first syllable of a curse could be uttered by the unwilling mage, he took one mighty swing at the unprotected head.

Almost at once, the blue form crumbled before him. Stepping forward quickly, he caught the injured Trickster and set him down on a patch of grass not burned by their fighting. As exhaustion made itself known in his bones, Thor took a seat next to his friend, grimacing at the sight of blood slowly running down the other's brow.

The wound required the attention of a healer, even he could tell that. For a moment he contemplated whether to take his fellow prince to Asgard or Jötunheimr, then remembered that there was someone he could get a hold of right here. With care he fished the little communicator out of his pocket and placed it back in his ear.

Banner, he learned through a short conversation, was already on his way, having been alerted by the storm he had caused. The kind doctor assured him that he knew how to tread a head wound, so there was at least one worry he could put aside. As to the others...

He had to hope that possession did not work on an unconscious mind and that, when he woke, Loki would be himself again.

.........

CB

.........

Clint had taken on a lot of weird missions during his years with SHIELD; case in point, the one last year where he'd met two alien princes and watched one of them die, then come back from the dead five minutes later. But finding a billionaire KO'd on the steps of an empty castle while they'd both been on the hunt for a glowing blue cube from outer space seriously made him worry that he'd never do anything normal again, like stopping an illegal arms dealer from smuggling stolen Vibranium over the border.

In light of his own near pratfall, he'd dragged Stark away from possible foot traffic. Though, they kinda lacked in company right now, for that to be an issue.

The rest of the team was still outside and the nice elderly lady who'd given them the tour was nowhere to be seen; hopefully, she had just remembered to take the cookies out of the oven, or something. The contractor he'd been subtly interrogating for the last half hour had looked visibly shocked when they'd discovered a seemingly lifeless body, so he'd sent him to the reception area where he was supposed to call a certain number that would connect him with SI' security staff, but was actually a direct line to Fury.

No way of knowing yet whether they needed backup; it was best to let the director know that there was trouble, though. And he couldn't just assume that Stark had tripped over his own feet or run into a door because, according to Thor, their party's wizard didn't have his head in the game, either.

He was relieved that Tasha was on the way; she would come up with a plan to deal with this mess. Clint himself was at a loss for what to do. He'd already looked around for whatever blunt instrument had been used to bash Stark over the head, but no longer made even a token effort at searching for the stupid Tesseract. That thing was probably headed for another hiding place by now or it had never been here in the first place.

If it hadn't, though, why had one of their group been ambushed while the other was "behaving oddly"?

Urgh, he so wasn't the right person for this detective work. He was more the point-me-at-a-target type of agent.

"Barton, if you think any harder, you're going to give yourself a headache."

Oh, thank god.

Dressed in a killer pantsuit Natasha was sauntering up the grand staircase, smirking somewhat patronizingly at him. "So, how did the great Hawkeye miss a fight happening about three feet away from him?"

Now, that was totally uncalled for.

"Hey, I'll have you know that I was on a different floor," he protested. Usually, he didn't mind a bit of friendly teasing or her calling him an idiot when he deserved it but he was pretty sure this wasn't his fault. "And there was no sound of a struggle; someone must have snug up from behind Stark. Look, he didn't even unpack his armor."

The red and silver suitcase sat beneath the window of the room in which the inventor had been chatting with the tour guide. He had no idea how to go about opening it – A code? Fingerprints? Voice activation? – but at the moment it looked tightly shut and weird only, if you didn't know the guy who owned it.

"All right, but why call for help when the threat's already past?" his kind partner asked, sounding the opposite of supportive.

Huh, what had gotten her so worked up? It wasn't like he'd interrupted her during a weapons cleaning session.

"Because that threat should still be _in_ the castle, " he pointed out, very logically he might add, "Unless they managed to get past _you_."

Yeah, so he shouldn't snap at her like a kid, but she'd totally started it.

As they weren't actual children, he then suggested that they inspect the building, one floor at a time, to which Tasha thankfully agreed without grumbling. He did feel a little bad about the man still lying unresponsive on an ancient, cordoned-off bed where he'd been deposited. "Do you think it's a good idea to just leave him behind? He's sorta helpless like this."

Black Widow's answer was practical, if rather cold. "I doubt our target is going to come back here; if the aim was to kill Stark, he'd be dead."

Okay, so he hadn't been appointed babysitter for the civilians and Nat was right, that the assailant probably wouldn't come back to the scene of crime, but just in case he placed the armor next to the unconscious superhero, to give him a fighting chance.

His own case was still on the third floor, though in these crammed quarters he'd be more likely to take out some valuable antiques than his intended opponent, so he left it where it was. Fortunately, he had also brought a gun, currently in a hip holster and invisible to all but himself. Magic really was damn convenient.

Side by side, the two agents stepped into the adjacent room, careful to look around corners before entering, both with a hand on their respective weapons. Apart from old furniture and the blue sky through the window, there was nothing to see here, nor in the next room or the next.

They didn't bother with the unfinished upper floor but moved on to the one below, tensely descending the stairs that left them too exposed for comfort. On the other hand, there was no way in hell that their cover stories still held water with any of the museum staff and making no secret of their spy work potentially put them at less of a risk of a sneak attack. So, he thought nothing of starting up a conversation, knowing that this would not be enough to break Natasha's concentration.

"You know, I was wondering, what did Loki find in the basement that he thought required reinforcements?"

The man's call to the rest of the team had initially sounded excited, then he'd completely cut out any communication and left Nat to explain his blunder.

"As I said, it was false alarm," she now told him brusquely, as though he'd been too slow on the uptake. "The only thing down there is the generator that powers the castle."

Meaning, he had mistaken simple electricity for magic? Yeah, that didn't seem plausible for "one of the most powerful mages in the Nine". And there was someone else who would have had to drop the ball in his area of expertise.

"What about Banner, then?" he asked, nor sure why he suddenly felt the need to make out the flaws in her reasoning, like he was trying to catch her in a lie. With his dominant arm slung over it he was leaning against the banister, half-way down the grand staircase. This afforded him an almost unobstructed view of the ground floor, which would have been useful, had there been a target to train his gun on. Instead, he only had obscure scientific observations to sink his teeth into.

What fun.

"The doc said that his machine spat out some unusual readings," he reminded his partner, who came up beside him, resting her crossed arms on the rail.

She huffed out a sigh, looking bored out of her mind, and sounding it too. "Who knows?" she replied, lazily. "Could have been a malfunction. Or he's picked up Thor's and Loki's magic by accident."

Yeah, he supposed that was possible, though it stood to reason that a specialist in radiation would have accounted for the energy that people were giving off, when he designed his little Tesseract detector.

To break the serious mood between them, Tasha flicked a finger at the back of his head; her smile playful. "Why do you worry so much about this, Clint? All of this supernatural stuff isn't really our area."

No, it totally wasn't. On good days they were spies, on bad one's assassins. Anyone assuming they were stupid because they were the 'muscle' of the group would get their nose broken, but there was nothing wrong with playing to their strengths and knowing their limits.

Still, the primary mission for today was to locate the Tesseract, even his own part in this had amounted more to 'alien handler'.

"Look, I just think we're a little hasty in calling off the search. Maybe we should bring in the Science Department."

To that end, he was about to get on the line with Coulson, when a bolt of lightning flashed across his vision, almost making him drop his phone.

"Shit!" he yelped, gripping his gun tightly before he dropped _that_, instead. "This isn't good." Hesitantly he looked up at the domed glass ceiling, through which the late afternoon sun was shining brightly. "And it's totally not natural."

Natasha shrugged her shoulders, nonplussed by the abrupt weather change. She wasn't easily rattled, but this apathy was starting to worry him.

Well, until he found her some henchmen to pummel, he'd better take the initiative, then.

"Thor, what's up with the light-show?" he asked over the comms. His next words he had to shout, as thunder joined lightning. "Come on, buddy, answer me!"

God damn it.

He turned to his fellow agent, saying, "Fuck, he's ignoring me," although she could hear the dead silence greeting him just as clearly.

"Maybe the mighty Thunderer just doesn't know how his earpiece works," she reckoned, which was both condescending and unhelpful.

All right, so the big Asgardian was more of a jock than a nerd; that didn't automatically establish him as an idiot. From what he'd seen in New Mexico and in Foster's lab at the Triskelion, he was not particularly tech savvy, but he was curious about "Midgardian" stuff. Also, there was this little snag that, "He talked to _you_ through the comms not half an hour ago."

This earned him a cold stare, that gave him actual goosebumps. But whatever had been poured into her coffee this morning to make her so fucking antagonistic, he didn't have the time to figure it out.

To get to the bottom of this developing natural disaster, he called the man with a plan.

"Captain, do you copy?" 

He bothered with the call sign only because it promised a quicker response from the soldier. And, really, because he had no idea if any of the others could hear him over the noise.

"Affirmative, Agent Barton."

Thank god, for small wonders.

"Where are you tight now, Rogers?" he asked, as some whole other conversation seemed to be taking place in the background.

"Er, I'm at the docks; helping the people here tie up the boats."

Of, course he was. The man just had to offer a helping hand 24/7, didn't he? Most times, role models were too good to be true. And then there was Steve Rogers.

But as he also needed the captain's help, Clint wouldn't dare complain.

"Right, when you're done with that, could you check on Odinson? I'm afraid, he and Loki are having a spat."

There was an actual shocked gasp before Rogers asked, "Are you sure this storm is _his _doing?"

All of the Avengers had been briefed on the powers of the two "gods", so the disbelief in the blond's voice had more to do with never having experienced the Thunderer's powers firsthand. To be fair, he had only seen them displayed once himself, when the guy had regained his hammer. Though, he did think his argument was solid.

"Positive. There weren't any clouds in the sky, all day. And he tends to affect the weather when he's in a bad mood."

That last part was purely an assumption, as Thor had been without superpowers during most of their acquaintance. But the blue eyes had always betrayed when he _wanted_ to fry someone with a lethal voltage, like a sniper's twitchy trigger finger.

He heard some deep grunting and the scraping of metal against stone, then Banner spoke up. "Er, I'm here with Steve. We'll be going over the grounds, see if we can defuse the situation." Or, if push came to shove, let the Hulk play referee; that alternative was implied, though it was not something the good doctor would like to consider.

For Clint this, at least, seemed promising. "Agent Romanoff and I are going to join you in a moment," he replied, before signing off.

Again, he turned to Natasha, a pleased grin on his face. "See, and you thought we couldn't work as a team."

His good mood went down the drain, however, as he noticed she was leveling her right hand, that had the Widow's Bite wrapped around it, directly at his chest. "You just had to make my job harder for me, didn't you?"

Okay. This mission was officially a wash.

Busy wondering whether he could put down anything strange happening today as "aliens did it" or, as the aliens themselves seemed affected too, this was completely beyond his comprehension, he missed her opening move and promptly had to stagger back as he was kicked in back by a stiletto.

Yeah, that would leave a bruise.

"Nat, is this because I took the last jelly doughnut at breakfast?" he asked, just as a means to distract her.

He knew, without a sliver of a doubt, that he was not dealing with his best friend right now. Sure, she liked to keep him on his toes but she had never threatened him with a loaded weapon. And, yes, they were really competitive when then trained together, but this was more than training.

Sadly, he also knew how to deal with a _hostile _Black Widow.

The gun he carried held no tranq ammunition; his bow did, but that was so out of reach now. In fact, he was maneuvered further and further down the stairs, sometimes knocked against the rails and, after one expertly placed punch to his solar plexus almost pushed down to the ground floor.

She was better at hand-to-hand combat than him, so what? She had learned this stuff at a time when he'd still been shoveling out elephant cages, which meant that getting her fist in his face didn't hurt his ego, only his cheekbones.

The reason they were partnered off on missions so often was not that their skills matched but that they complimented each other. And they knew each other so damn well, enough so that she now could predict every possible countermove he was about to make to every one of her kicks and blows.

He thought the same was true for him, that he could predict her actions, but when she languidly walked towards him, hands held out to the sides as though she meant to surrender, a secretive smile playing on her lips, Clint was honestly too stunned to react.

"We don't have to do this," she told him in a sultry voice. "We were always at our best when we fought together." Her tone suggested that "fighting" was the last thing on her mind and, as they'd had a thing way back when, he wasn't instantly disgusted by the implication. More by what followed. Stopping inches away from him, she placed her left hand on his chest, over his heart. "He knows your value, Clint. He will allow you to join his cause. And once he's made the world anew, we won't have to worry about sides anymore, we can stop making amends."

At SHIELD, one did not lightly throw out the word "compromised" because that led to more than just a week's worth of paperwork. There had been a few incidences in the past, of agents being brainwashed or drugged, which had mostly ended with a stay in a nice secure cell until the effects wore off. But both psychological or chemical manipulation would have required alone time with the subject and Tasha had only been down in the basement for thirty minutes.

In the basement, where Loki had found "nothing".

Shit.

Okay, new plan: Get outside, find Thor and make him spill what had gone wrong on his end. Because there was no way all of this oddness was unrelated.

Now, how to get his partner to rush into the storm with him?

Acting like he was seriously considering her words, Clint drew her even closer, one hand placed over hers where it was playing with the collar of his shirt, the other on her waist. "Yeah, that sounds tempting." He moved his hand along, downwards, until he bumped against something metallic, something invisible. "Unfortunately, I don't think I can join the Dark Side this month; I've heard they're all out of cookies."

Grinning bitterly at his poor joke, he headbutted her, which had probably hurt _him_ far more than her, but at least quickly separated them without revealing his intent.

And now he had her gun.

She wouldn't need it to thoroughly trounce him and he would rather shoot himself in the foot than to use it on her. It did, however, allow him to fire off a few rounds and still have enough bullets in his own sidearm.

Normally, he'd think twice before causing some massive property damage - it just wasn't good for SHIELD's public image - but having a billionaire on the team had to come with at least one benefit.

Therefore, without further ado, he shot out the domed window overhead, causing veritable rainbow of glass shards to rain down on them. He ducked his head, covering his eyes with his left hand. Nat had thrown herself out of the way of the worst of it; forward not sideways, which brought her closer to the open entrance doors

Finally, something that had gone right this day; a few steps more, and they'd be outside.

A bit of glass was not going to bring down the Black Widow, of course; within moments she was on him, hitting him in all the vulnerable places, in a desperate, panicked fashion, as if admitting to herself that she was losing this fight, even though she wasn't.

She could still break his neck with her thighs, he had no doubt. That particular move didn't come into play, but almost all of her other favorites did. Clint blocked what he could and tried to stay close to her. When she rammed the side of her hand in between two of his ribs, he took his chance; gripping her upper arm, he made to throw her over his shoulder.

But she kicked his leg out from under him before he could get up the right momentum and as he knelt there amongst the wreckage, catching his breath, she hurled him up by the collar and slammed him back-first against the door.

Out of breath, he watched her pat her left trouser leg, curl her fingers around something that his eyes said wasn't there and then he felt the edge of a knife at his throat.

Fuck magic.

"Tasha," he said, in a last appeal to their friendship.

She either didn't hear or didn't care. The empty stare she directed at him made clear that all that mattered was that she eliminated her mark. Whatever had happened, it had turned her into a heartless, soulless instrument, something she no longer was, never truly had been.

Deep inside, she had to hate every second of this, but it looked like this was a kind of conditioning she could not easily break though. He would have to help her.

The gun pressed between the two of them, aimed at her stomach, became heavy in his hand.

Years ago, shortly after joining SHIELD, Natasha had continued to worry that she would not be able to fully shake off what the Red Room had done to her. Though Fury had cleared her for field work, she had been convinced that there was still a chance that she would betray "the good guys". So, she had made Clint promise that he would taker her out, if she ever became a threat.

The thing with promises like that was, you could be utterly resolved to make good on them, in theory. Yet, when the moment came, there was nothing in the whole fucking world that could prepare you for the pain.

He put one finger on the trigger, thinking he would probably not get to press it before the knife cut through his carotid artery, and he didn't know whether he should be grateful for that or curse every deity in existence for putting them in a situation where they would die together, like some stupid cliché of gangster couple.

There had never been true romance between them, not even in the early days, but he did love her. Far too much to...

A shock went through him, not mentally but an actual electric shock, though they had not made it outside to be subjected to some godly lightning. Without warning, Natasha fell forward into his arms and thereby revealed a cheerfully grinning Iron Man, hovering a foot or so over the ground.

"Hi, you looked in bit of a tight spot there, Legolas."

Fuck. That had been close.

Hoisting his friend up so that she was flush against his chest, he wiped the sweat of his brow with his other arm.

Stark gestured wildly, his tone a little less tongue-in-cheek than before. "Hey, watch where you're pointing that thing. You'll take your eye out that way."

What?

Confused, Clint looked to where the other man was pointing, only then realizing that he was still holding the gun. Relieved that he could finally rid himself of it, he let the borrowed weapon slip from his fingers, to clutter on the polished floor. 

"Were you actually gonna shoot her?" the inventor asked, slowly lowering his suit until they could look each other in the eye. His expression was sympathetic, almost as though he knew how it felt to make a decision like this.

"No," was the only truthful reply. Because he couldn't have. To hell with that promise. "But don't tell her that."

He received no reply to that, though the widening of brown eyes showed the other man was slightly disturbed by the aside. But Stark was fortunately more interested in the chaos around them, then an agent's moral crisis.

"You've got any idea what's made everyone go crazy today?"

At this, he shrugged his shoulders, though that was made awkward by Tasha's dead weight in his arms. He shifted her to one side, so that he could feel for her pulse.

Steady, strong, still there.

He shot the superhero a grateful look; there were definitely more lethal weapons than a taser in his arsenal.

As if they'd both been thinking of the same thing, Stark suddenly remembered to ask, "She's going to be okay, right?", sounding honestly concerned.

"Yeah," Clint answered, sure that she would be; needing her to be. "We'd better take her to medical, anyway. Maybe we should all be checked out, just in case."

The reply to that lacked somewhat in enthusiasm.

"Yay," the other man said dryly. Then he motioned for Natasha, wordlessly offering to fly her to the pier, where his yacht was waiting for them.

But Hawkeye just shook his head; taking care of his partner was his task alone. He threw her over his shoulder, carrying her through the door in a fireman's lift. She'd kick his ass for that, if she ever heard of it.

That was something to look forward to. As long as it was truly her who did the ass-kicking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just two quick notes for today:
> 
> I based Thor's description of berserkers more on those featured on Agents of Shield, simply because I liked the idea that anyone could become one, by succumbing to their darker side. 
> 
> Natasha's backstory is still a mystery to me, because I haven't read that many comics featuring her. So, I'm just using what the MCU has given us, so far. Hopefully, with her own movie on the horizon, we'll soon know more.
> 
> Okay, so I did leave this at somewhat of a cliffhanger, but I will try to post the following chapter very soon. There are, after all, not many things distracting me nowadays, apart form work.
> 
> I appreciate everyone of you who is reading my fic and especially those of you leaving a comment, when you probably have other stuff on your minds right now.
> 
> Check out my new [Tumblr](https://jotunn-scholar.tumblr.com/), where I ramble on about Norse Myths and you can find even more elaborate author's notes.
> 
> Wishing you all well!  
See you next chapter!


	8. Five defiant voices and the one that doesn't belong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As a wizard and a spy recover from being controlled by an unknown puppeteer, SHIELD tries to get at information from their addled minds. Thankfully, while the Avengers have not been officially assembled, there are friendships among them closer than family. And new friendships that might form through shared experiences. Also, Darcy Lewis might not have superpowers, but she is still a goddamn hero.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone!  
Another long lull in updates is at an end. Though, this chapter is also overly long (more than 20K), so that might explain it.  
I hope you are all safe and well, whether in quarantine or not.  
I'm not an essential worker but do have to go to the office everyday, so updates will continue to be slow.
> 
> If you'd like to be appraised of my progress on the next chapter you could visit my [my new Tumblr](https://jotunn-scholar.tumblr.com/).
> 
> I wish you happy reading!

.........

?

.........

He stood at the shore of great ocean, glittering sand yielding under his toes; before him the vast waters moved in a soothing rhythm, behind him loomed a dark, forbidding mountain.

He was alone here, he was certain, and yet...

_"Take it now. Take that which you need the most," _someone, somewhere whispered.

Looking around did not reveal the source, but that did not trouble him.

What was it that he needed? He was not so sure and this stranger would only hint at it.

_"You know what you need, what you yearn for."_

Did he? Maybe he had known that once, but now he could not recall wanting anything more than to watch the ebb and flow of the water, the majesty of the deep blue waves.

_"It is simple," _the other told him, sounding rather incessant._ "It is **power** you crave, as we all do."_

But he _had_ power, did he not? To test that theory, he let magic dance over his palm, down to his fingertips. Still there, not taken. And there was a different sort of power he held, as well, that should not be disregarded.

"I am a prince, a son of Laufey," he said, or merely thought; he could not tell which, afterwards.

_"Ah, yes, a prince. How could I forget?" _came the mocking reply. Was it truly mockery, though, or only harmless teasing? After all, this nameless man seemed intent on helping him. _"You are a prince, but only of one world. All the others, they spit on you, think you lesser, because your skin his not golden, your heart not set on battle."_

Now, with that he could not argue, regardless of how much it stung to hear. Being of royal blood had done little to shield him from barbs and insults and open violence. On the contrary, well-travelled and well-known as he was, in him most people of other races seemed to see their narrow-minded beliefs confirmed. But more physical or magical power would not change this state of affairs, unless he picked a fight with everyone who dared to sneer at him.

As though the other sensed his scepticism, he was swiftly assured that, _"No, such brutish displays are beneath you, good prince. What I was suggesting is of a more imperial nature."_

Imperial. As in, official. Political. Did that mean...?

_"Hmm,"_ the stranger hummed in satisfaction, a sound palpable as a shiver that ran down his spine. _"Now you understand, do you not, lad?"_

He did, but he could not say that he liked the implication. After all, the only way to gain more political power than he had as a prince was to seize the throne.

"What you are suggesting is treason!" he shouted, over the rushing of the waves, and this time he was sure that he had spoken aloud instead of only in his head.

Despite his anger, no attempt was made to placate him. Indeed, the other's next words came closer to a lecture. _"Ah, ah; I never said it had to be your own realm that you should seek to rule. There are _nine_ in total, are there not?"_

True, yet what could possibly move him to take up the leadership of another world? Admittedly, he had once thought that invading Asgard and ending Odin's dominion would be worth the risk. With that he had hoped to strengthen his father's position, however, and not his own.

_"Your father, yes."_ There was derision in that reply, but a touch of pity, as well. _"He has made an attempt at conquest once, but he has failed. **You will not**."_

These last words had made his ears ring near painfully, although his advisor had not raised his voice. It left him strangely reluctant to protest, for no reason that he could name. Like being given an order by his king, it weighed heavily on his heart not to comply.

But they had spoken of his wishes earlier, of his needs. It had never been his desire to rule and the idea of finishing Jötunheimr's conquest of Midgard turned his stomach. He thought of Jane's appalled reaction to hearing of the past war, of Darcy's fervent defence of her people governing themselves, of Erik trying to find some justification for the attack of his homeland because he did not believe in a universe divided into monsters and heroes.

With his mind on his friends he fought the disquiet that the planned disobedience evoked; his eyes lowered and fixed on the water lapping at his feet. "I cannot," he said tentative, then more determined, "They would never forgive me."

Akin to an illusion that flickered to reveal the truth underneath, he heard an angry growl and a similarly displeased remark. _"**What care do you have for their forgiveness**?" _Yet the anger dissipated as his mind was flooded with love for the three mortals, like a spell reflexively thrown up to deflect a curse.

When next his guide spoke, it was in a gentle tone, full of understanding, so that he had to wonder whether he had only imagined the question that had come before. He must have, surely.

_"Now, there is no need to fear their disappointment. In fact, it would not surprise me if they were to be thankful to finally have a king, who can unite their sundered nations and end their petty conflicts."_

Images of battles, fought with Midgardian weaponry, danced before his mind's eye. He had read of the bloody history of this realm, of the cruelty they committed against each other. However, he had read of peace, too, and how the humans welcomed it each and every time.

Right on cue, the images changed to ones of celebration; a parade in a crowded street, adorned with brightly-coloured flower petals. And on a pedestal waving to the cheering masses, stood a grinning figure, dark of hair and blue of complexion, a circlet of gold atop his head, a glowing cube in his right hand. The people were shouting a name, over and over, that he could not hear and still knew to be his.

"No", he said quietly, yet firmly. No, this was wrong.

Even in his most childish of dreams he had never hoped to be feted like a hero, like a god. Likewise, he had yearned for respect but not for mindless devotion.

"No," he said, once more. "This is not what I want; this is someone else's fantasy."

Actually, it was close to how he had pictured the coronation of... of...

Thor.

As soon as the thought of his erstwhile enemy sprang to mind the images vanished and thunder rumbled overhead.

He looked up in search of clouds, only to squeeze his eyes tightly shut against a glaring yellow sun.

_"He wants to take what his rightfully yours," _the stranger whispered into his ear; a deep murmur that made his skin crawl.

Who was this, that spoke to him so? Where could he find the speaker?

He looked around, half in panic and half in anger, but there was only the water and the mountain. The water now reached to his waist, the sand had turned into heavy mud that made him sink ever deeper. Would he drown, if he stayed here?

_"Would that be so bad?" _the voice inquired, ever so kindly.

Although he should still be able to see the ocean, all his eyes could make out were the blue, blue waves, but from an angle he had not witnessed before. It was all around him now, above and below, and it was blessedly cold. It felt like an embrace, a comfort freely given, a place where he could forget his worries.

_"You see, **this**, you can have this, **for all your days, my lad**,"_

Yes, that would be nice. He would like that. He could not ask for anything more.

He tried not to listen as the thunder continued to echo through his head, threatening to overpower the lullaby of the blue sea. Instead, he clung to this peaceful haven, even when lightning brightened the surface to an almost blinding white. But the resulting surge of power drove needles into his skin and the breath from his lungs.

Loki's last clear thought, before he was swept ashore, was that, while his friends might forgive him for his mistakes, he would never do so himself.

.........

LL

.........

He woke to a pounding headache and the sight of his own reflection, mirrored in a wall of glass. A healer had applied gauze to his injury; at some point in his sleep he must have shifted to his natural shape. Or that had happened during the time that was veiled in fog within his mind.

As he sat up he noted that he had been lying on a metal cot; hardly the height of luxury but more generous than expected. More than he deserved.

What met with his expectations, however, was that he found himself in a cell. It was spacious enough for him to pace the floor and well lit; by its lack of further furnishings as well as by the cameras in each corner it reminded him an awful lot of a similar room he had been held in after an altercation with Barton. And that should not surprise him, as he was likely in one of SHIELD's strongholds, at the moment.

Thinking on his previous imprisonment brought on a flare of nervousness, which had nothing to do with the confinement itself. Hastily he conjured a small flame in his palm and, once he had extinguished it, he momentarily changed the same hand to a wolf's paw.

They had not blocked his abilities, then; that was a relief. To be sure, it should not have been; rendering a crazed warrior powerless was a sensible precaution. And he had certainly not been acting at all sane; he knew that well enough.

What he did not know was how and when he had lost control of himself. Piecing together his scattered, distorted thoughts regarding the last few hours would, he feared, prove as intricate a task as to rebuild a broken cup out of its pulverised shards. Nevertheless, he had to try.

They had ventured out to an island that housed a little castle, so much he could recall. They - that is to say, Thor and he and a group of mortals, whose names and faces swam before his eyes. At some point during their quest they had separated; the why of it eluded him, though it likely was not of great import. Why they had gone to this place at all, _that _he ought to know, but the memory kept slipping from his grasp.

For a while he had walked the castle on his own. What had he done, where had he gone? No manner of searching seemed able to pull that knowledge out of the void in his mind.

He let out an inarticulate yell, let his head fall into his hands.

This was impossible. Memories did not just disappear; they could be buried, even altered, but not undone. Despite that, he was left without an inkling of what had occurred between leaving the agents behind and the battle on the castle grounds.

A battle there had been, undeniably. Not only were his pounding head and the fading scorch marks on his arms telling him so, it was also the part of the day he remembered most clearly.

They had fought, Thor and he, and it had felt right, as it should be. They had not been enemies for several months yet in that moment he could not have said why that was so. After all, he hated the arrogant Ás and he was convinced the Nine Realms were well rid of his suffocating presence.

He had not forgotten their banishment to Midgard, the many talks they had shared, the peace they had forged. However, any notion of friendship had seemed laughable, all of a sudden; like a trick that, once revealed, made you question how you could have been fool enough to fall for it. As a result, any appeal to this friendship Thor had made, while valiantly refusing to fight him, had merely driven him deeper into bloodlust.

But what had been the catalyst for this battle? They had squabbled on the boat ride to the island; neither of them had said anything hurtful enough to warrant violent retribution, though. No, he was missing something, some time. An hour or maybe just a few moments.

Utterly frustrated, he tugged at his hair with both hands, wishing he could tug at these elusive memories just as easily. In theory, he should be able to, because they were _his _memories, stored in _his_ mind, where he alone was in control. For all that, something was hindering him from delving too deep.

Well, retracing his steps had not worked, perhaps a different method would.

Now, a shapeshifter wishing to be even slightly convincing in their chosen form had to, at all times, be aware of every aspect of their appearance, their movements, their mannerisms, because a natural talent for changing their skin could take them only so far. A good liar worth their name had to know their mind, in and out, lest they stumble over their words, or react clumsily at a too probing question.

Loki, who was both, liked to think he knew himself better than anyone else ever could, so it should not be hard to make out what of him was different than it had been the day prior. Painstakingly he sifted through his thoughts, intent to find those that did not belong.

There was confusion, much of it, but this he brushed aside, for he knew the reason for it. There was anger, too, which was hardly a foreign emotion. Still, he might have to examine that later, in order to explain why he had fought one he know considered a friend. His feelings for his other friends had not changed, nor had the love for his family. But the sensation that threatened to crowed out all others the longer he prodded at it was a strange sort of hunger.

For what exactly he hungered remained shrouded in fog, he only knew it could not be sated by food or drink. With a good amount of trepidation he followed that hunger down to its source and barrelled straight into a wall of pain.

Blessed Ymir, that had been a mistake.

Fortunately for him, he was not subjected to continuous agony, but a sort, sharp stabbing behind his eyes. And, like a child that had discovered the heat of glowing coals when holding a hand over them, he focused his thoughts elsewhere to save himself from getting burned.

"Hm, sounds like you could use some Aspirin."

He looked up at the uncompromising face of one Nicolas Fury, standing with his hands at his hips, gun in its holster pointedly made visible, on the other side of the glass wall. "Mr. Laufeyson," he said, his tone grim.

Having been startled by the man's approach, it took Loki a moment to discern that his name had not been used for a simple greeting but as a question. And not without good reason.

"Yes," he replied flatly. To him, his identity, at least, was not in doubt.

It must have been an honest concern to the director, however, as he only now loosened his battle-ready stance and let his weapon disappear under the long black coat. "Good," was all he said in response, accompanied by a small nod that was probably as far as he was willing to go in showing relief. "I hope that, in light of your recent 'episode' you can understand that we had to take some precautions," he added and gestured at the glass separating them.

While his "episode" of madness remained a blur, he knew enough to be glad of what safeguards SHIELD had put in place, to protect people from him.

"I _do_ understand, Director." More so than the other man could possibly guess. "You would be a fool to trust me when I cannot even trust myself right now."

He awaited no pity for that statement and was not surprised to receive none. But Furry did try to sound somewhat sympathetic, at least, when he assessed the situation. "Well, it's not really a matter of trust. According to your friend Thor, you weren't acting of your own free will and Barton said the same of Agent Romanov."

Romanov. Yes, he did have some vague memories of talking to the lady and of requesting her help with... something.

It seemed, lost in thought as he was, some of his concern had sipped through his mask of false calm, though the other man knew not for which concern he required reassurance. "Don't worry; we have her contained, as well."

Instead of lessening his worries, this information only increased them. If Natasha had to be contained that meant she, too, had transgressed against her people. Or, against Barton, to be precise. Was that the common denominator of their madness, then; that friend had been pitted against friend?

That had the potential to create a great deal of chaos, if it spread to the other heroes. Already, he had reason to pray that he had not harmed Thor all too much during their battle and that the archer was well.

To SHIELD's leader the main concern, of course, was to reduce the threat to his realm.

"Until we've figured out what the hell happened, I would appreciate it if you'd stayed put."

It was not a warning, not even a command; the words had been spoked in far too diplomatic a manner. As obviously unnerved as the man had been at working with two "aliens" from the beginning, it likely made him uncomfortable now to have imprisoned one of them. Certainly, Laufey would not have reacted at all calmly to the news, in spite of the legitimate reason for said imprisonment.

For once, Loki might not be the only one, who was thankful that Jötunheimr did not have a Watcher to report on his well-being to his family.

Aware that adding to the agent's fears by pointing out the political repercussions of arresting a prince of the Nine, and that, as a prince, it was time for him to act responsibly, he kept his voice level as he replied, "I was not planning to leave." Neither the realm nor his cell. Although the cell might become a problem. "You must know, however, that should I... have another 'episode', mere glass will not be sufficient to stop me."

Glass was glass, regardless of what realm it had been forged on; inventive as the Midgardians were, they could not make it sturdier. Without wards or other preventive measures, Loki would be able to break it with a finger.

SHIELD, he had learned some time ago, was prepared for every eventuality.

"Yeah, I didn't think it would be enough to put you in a cage," Fury said tersely, probably taking the Jötunn's reminder that he was stronger than the average mortal as arrogant boasting. He stepped away from the cell then, and towards a console topped with buttons, that looked comparable in technology to the controls of Barton's flying vessel. "We are currently 30,000 feet above ground level; if you scratch the glass or I push this-" He tapped a few computer keys, that made a gust of strong wind rush in from below. When Loki got up from the cot in order to peer out over the limits of his confinement, he saw that a hatch had been opened below him through which the world beneath was visible. Then the director let one finger hover over a big, red button, his eye on his captive. "-you'll be dropped straight down, like so much dead-weight. If you're lucky, we'll be flying over an ocean at that moment."

Ah, that was ingenious, indeed. It might even be successful in holding him off for a little while, until he shifted into a form with wings or simply reached for a fork in the Tree to skywalk out. At the very least, it would take him out of reach of the people he might try to hurt, in his addled state.

"I see you have thought this through," Loki remarked, both apprehensive and impressed by the level of preparedness. For this prison could not have been constructed only in the few hours that he had spent unconscious. _We truly made you nervous, did we not?_ he thought, which might have pleased him once, but now was tinged with regret.

Having people fear him had long lost its appeal.

"I would assume you have not felt the need to take similar precautions with Agent Romanov," he said, in a veiled attempt to ask after her. He genuinely hoped she was in good health; during his stay on Midgard he had grown rather fond of the lady.

Fury, while looking a tad suspicious, did not hesitate to answer, the verbal question as well as the one underling. "Nah, I just put her in an empty holding cell and placed a few agents at her door. She was still out of it when I saw her in an hour ago, but the medics think that's a normal reaction to being zapped by one of Stark's repulsors."

Now, that sounded painful, for all they could not tell what kind of weapon a "repulsor" was. That the inventor had intervened and that he found no gentler way to subdue her revealed quite a lot about the battle that he had missed.

"If she has been unconscious, that means you do not know what made her..."

"...try to slice Barton's throat open?" the other man finished for him; the gaze in his eye hard as steel. "We've got no clue. I'm guessing you don't either, hm?"

It shamed him that he could only shake his head in response. He had come to Midgard because the mortals had requested his aid and now he had turned into a burden to them.

"I am working on it," he said, grimacing at his own lack of conviction.

"Great. Let us know, once you've managed to clear your head,." With one hand Fury indicated the cameras to his right and left, before kindly suggesting, "Or if you need anything; food, a pillow, painkillers."

The offer of basic hospitality was most like perfunctory and yet it lifted a considerable weight from his chest, for it implied he was not a prisoner in truth, but a soldier sequestered here to heal from his wounds. That was a more optimistic view than he was wont to take; it was however, the one SHIELD's commander had seemingly decided on.

"We'll have you out of there in no time, as soon as it's safe," the other man assured him, his face showing an almost parental regard, revealing that he worried about more than the political implications.

Well, Loki had been quite successful in making friends on this realm; he was not against procuring himself a few allies, in the bargain.

"Thank you," he said earnestly, bowing his head with princely formality. "And please do not hesitate to ask me for advice. Despite my... affliction, I would be glad to still be of help."

Although he did not know what they had wanted his advice on originally; he supposed, that was one mystery he had to work on.

Outside of his cell the mortal world kept on turning and responsibilities needed seeing to, so Nicolas Fury said his goodbyes a scant few moments later, encouraging him to, "Hang in there, Laufeyson" before leaving Loki alone with his thoughts.

Now, all that he could do, to escape confinement and the dread he felt at being a danger to those he loved, was to repair his broken mind. One painful attempt at a time.

.........

TO

.........

He paced back and forth, stealing the occasional glance at the monitor that showed a video of Loki, as he sat in his cage. The mage looked deep in trance, which was a great improvement to the agonised shouts that had rung through the room only an hour ago.

Damn, he hated not knowing how to help a friend in pain.

"Thor, honey, could you please sit down?" was how Jane interrupted his umpteenth turn around the room; her tone, though scolding, was rather subdued. "You're making everyone nervous."

Embarrassed by her words, he looked at his old and new acquaintances who, indeed, appeared a bit tense. That was likely not due to him alone; with two of their companions in questionable mental state and a third sporting a nasty bump on his head, it would have been strange for any of them to be in a good mood.

They were all gathered in a large, brightly lit room that aptly reminded him of a ship's deck; the majority of SHIELD agents who normally worked here had been commanded to vacate the place so that it could be used for a "team meeting." What chairs there were had been arranged at even intervals around the deck and in front of yet more monitors, depicting rows of meaningless numbers.

As he sat down next to his dear lady and the light over their heads began to flicker, he had to concede that maybe she was right about him needing to get a hold of himself.

With a long calming breath he quieted the storm without and within.

"I am sorry," he said, unable to look anyone in the eye. "I just wish there were something I could do." Frustration had him raise his voice, which hardly served to lower the tension.

Thankfully, Jane had ever been more level-headed than he, and so she was already thinking of the next steps to take. She placed one of her hands in his and, squeezing it, she asked him, "Are you sure that your healers can't help Loki?"

At first, he had dismissed this because the Jötunn had not looked too badly hurt; nothing that a few hours of rest would not have undone on their own. Later, when he had watched the conversation with Fury through the cameras, he had deemed it unnecessary, as his friend had seemed wholly himself, again. Yet, after listening to his tortured screams as he attempted to mend the tears the possession had ripped into his mind, he had to admit that it would be cruel not to call for what help was available to them.

However....

"He will not react well to an Asgardian healer." An attitude that, he believed, anyone on this realm would find entirely unreasonable. "Even if they knew how to cure him of this illness, I doubt he would let them near him." Nor would Thor let a Jötunn near him were he in such a vulnerable state; their own friendship notwithstanding, their people were still enemies.

Darcy looked as though she was about to protest but she must have read the lack of smugness on his face, for she relented and offered him only a sad little smile.

"Er, not meaning to butt in here," Tony Stark said, doing just that, "but can't you fetch someone from his own planet?"

Yes, that would have been the responsible action to take. Also one that was potentially catastrophic.

Now, Darcy spoke up, not surprisingly understanding his reluctance.

"Laufey is gonna be so pissed, when he hears of Loki getting hurt" she declared, her tone betraying her own anger at that situation.

She was, of course, correct, and while he had not caused the other prince's condition, aside from the head wound, the thought of the king's reaction filled him with unease.

A feeling that at least some of the mortals seemed to share.

"Is that going to be a problem for us?" Captain Rogers, asked casually enough, yet his posture – arms stiffly held at his sides, back ramrod straight – were that of a warrior awaiting the order to go into battle.

Thor desperately hoped it would not come to that.

"'Tis unlikely that Jötunheimr would blame you for what has happened," he said in an attempt to allay the other's worries. "They might blame _me_, though."

_"I hope you are aware that you will be held responsible for any harm that comes to Loki during those few hours, Thor Odinson."_

Oh yes, they would most definitely blame him.

Fear of facing a furious Jötunn captain was, however, not the reason why he was hesitating to take on the journey to the enemy realm.

"We should allow Loki time to take care of this on his own. He has never been over-fond of accepting help." And he thought he could judge that fairly, as he had once offered help to the other man when he had found him half-burned and half-starved, only to be rudely rebuffed.

The Trickster truly was too prideful for his own good.

The Trickster's honorary sister, though, did not think pride or stubbornness enough of a reason to not procure him help, saying "Who cares if he's fond of it? If he puts up a fuss, I'm gonna sit on him until the healers have worked their magic."

Amongst snickers of the other mortals he had to promise her that he would inform the Jötunn royal family of what had happened, should Loki not be better by the end of the day; only then did she cease staring him down like the worst of criminals.

Such close scrutiny was hardly enjoyable, wherefore he was grateful when most of the attention was off him and shifted onto Coulson, instead, who was quick to bring the conversation around to more strategic matters. "All right, until we know more about Laufeyson's or Romanov's health, let's talk bout what else went wrong yesterday."

The agent was leaning against the ship's railing, his arms crossed over his chest, looking untroubled by the sombre atmosphere as he addressed Banner, "Can you explain the irregular readings you picked up in New York, Doctor?"

The scholar fiddled with the device that he had used during their quest while he explained, "Actually, the readings weren't irregular, they were just... Well, I compared them to data you had collected on the Tesseract; the energy levels as well as the radiation output are nearly identical."

That meant, if he understood this correctly, that the Cube truly had been hidden in the castle. Yet Loki had claimed to have found "nothing." Had his mind already been addled by then?

"The problem was that I couldn't pin down a location. It was like someone had carried the thing in their pocked as they toured the island. Also, the signal kept cutting out. We think, eh, that is, Tony and I...." His gaze wandered over to the other side of the room where Stark was focused on his communications device. But the other must have been paying some attention to what was being said because he gave his friend a bright grin at the mention of his name. "We think this was either an attempt to conceal the Tesseract or done deliberately to..."

"To lure us towards the Cube," Thor interrupted, and immediately had all eyes on him again. This time the looks did not make him feel uncomfortable, though; for he believed to have the right of it. "Loki assumed that he had been allowed to see the Cube so that he had could then be attacked with dark magic. And it was _he_ who went to examine Bruce Banner's readings."

"You're thinking this was all a ploy to put a mind-whammy on him and Natalie?" Stark asked and though he had only comprehended every second word of that question, Thor responded with a sharp nod. "Sheesh, that's some convoluted plot. What are they going to do next; burn down the rainforest to make toast?"

At this rather strange analogy, several of the mortals winced; only the son of Coul looked thoughtful.

"Hm, honestly, that theory has some merit," he said. With a few commands to the computer before him he projected two images into the room, one for each of their wounded comrades. "It might not have been the goal, from the outset, but in one fell swoop we lost our magic expert and one of SHIELD's most competent agents. If this mystery man means to weaken us, he could hardly have done better."

That was certainly true and its showed how awfully naive they had been to underestimate their enemy.

"So, when are we gonna fight back?" a voice inquired, moments before Barton jumped down to their level from... somewhere above. The archer seemed to like startling people in that fashion almost as much as the Trickster, although there was nothing mischievous in his demeanour. He was obviously spoiling for violence, and Thor would have gladly joined in. Sadly, they were lacking a target, as Rogers pointed out.

"We don't really know who we're up against, right?" As no one contradicted him, he went on to describe their poor chances in a possible battle. "Whoever they are has magic, some kind of mind-bending powers and they have the Tesseract. Even if we knew where to find this man, we shouldn't just rush into this unprepared."

"I don't give a shit," the archer replied angrily, fists balled at his sides. He had left his bow on a chair next the lady Natasha's bed, as could be seen on the projection. But he did not seem less of a warrior without it as he vowed, "That bastard meddled with Nat's head and you won't stop me from shooting an arrow into his fucking eye for that."

Oh, it was doubtful that anyone in this room would have stood in the way of such justified act of vengeance. But, again, they were missing a direction in which to train that arrow.

After the ship had picked them up from the castle, Thor had taken a swift detour to Asgard, thinking that Heimdallr would have seen what had transpired hours before. To go by the gatekeeper's report, however, no one had been lurking in the shadows and all had been calm until a knife had been plunged into the Thunderer's chest. Clearly the all-seeing eyes had been deceived, and though Heimdallr insisted that there was only one person capable of this brand of trickery, the prince had argued against any accusations aimed at his friend.

No, Loki was not the enemy and he, too, deserved a spot of vengeance for what had been done to him. He would find no opposition to that here yet, as he had learned some time ago, the Midgardians were a more careful lot than his own people.

"Calm down, Hawkeye," the archer's superior said, using what had to be a moniker to address him. "You can empty your quiver into as many body parts as you like, when we have the go-ahead for this mission. But first, and in this I agree with Captain Rogers, we need more information on our enemy. And now that Mr. Laufeyson is awake, I'll take the opportunity to ask for that."

Indeed, the projection on the left showed Loki was no longer directing his mind inwards; his eyes were alert, his posture stiff as he sat on his cot, his face so painfully blank as it seldom was these days, with so many people around him to whom he seemed comfortable to show his emotions freely.

Having the honour to be one of those people, Thor also felt a certain responsibility to shield his friend from too intrusive a questioning. "_I_ will speak to Loki," he insisted firmly, not leaving any room for protest. "He does..." 'Trust me', he meant to say, although he was not altogether sure of that. There had been less mistrust between them of late, but that was not the same thing. Therefore, he concluded with, "... owe me an explanation for why he attacked me." Which sounded more selfish, yet likely more believable.

Once he had taken it on, none of the other warriors attempted to wrest the task from him, not even Coulson, who had so bravely put himself forward. Darcy only demanded that he "be nice" to her "Lokes", but did not fight for the chance to go in his stead. Jane squeezed his hand. once more, and kissed his cheek softly, before he rose from his chair.

With all of the mortals looking at him nervously, he could not help but to feel as though he was about to march onto a battlefield. Despite that, he was surprised by the soldier offering him support.

"Should we stand by as back up, in case he, eh, forgets whose side he's on, again?" Rogers inquired, with some trepidation but earnestly enough.

Initially, his instincts told him to reject the offer, because he was strong enough to defeat the Jötunn on his own and, more importantly, Loki was hale now. However, time amongst the mortals had thought him to be a bit more careful himself and to consider not only the most favourable outcome.

"I would be glad of you aid, if it becomes necessary," he told the other man solemnly, and still felt it best to add, "But I would appreciate it if you were to watch over the both of us form_ here_; Loki will not tell me anything with an audience present."

Furthermore, he would hate for the other prince to be treated like a threat. After all, they _were_ on the same side now. Norns willing, Loki remembered this, as well.

.........

The instant he walked into the area of the ship designated as SHIELD's temporary prison, the sole inmate jumped up from his seat, as if startled. He did not go on the attack but backed away hastily, like a cornered animal, his voice equally full of fear. "What are you doing here? Have gone mad? I... I tried to kill you!"

Stated so bluntly it really seemed reckless of him to have come to this place, though he saw no reason to worry for himself. "Ah, but you were possessed, then, and now you have regained your free will," he declared, overly cheerfully, hoping to be correct on this.

Even in his agitated state the mage succeeded in making him feel an idiot as he explained, "It was not possession, more a form of compulsion." Well, if he could argue for the proper terminology of dark spellwork, he really must be improving. "I had full control of my body and I could think on my own; there was just someone who... influenced the direction of those thoughts."

That unnamed "he"; yes, he had gathered as much.

"But you have rid yourself of that influence, have you not?" Thor asked, again wishing there were some way he could tell. Maybe a healer could. Loki, who had some experience in that art and should know his own mind best, apparently could _not_.

"I am not sure," he said, sounding tired, above all else. Yet when he spoke on, it was in a much stronger voice and with almost manic conviction. "Listen, Thor, I tried to kill you because I _wanted_ to. And that was not a foreign thought, planted in my mind. I have wanted you dead a great many times."

Huh, _that_ was why he acted like someone who ought to be feared?

"I have wanted the same for you, in all those years that we were enemies," he remarked casually, barely regarding that worth mentioning, as neither of them had made a secret of their mutual hatred at that time. "But wanting something does not make it so." At least not without the application of magic. "And the mere thought of committing a wrong is not a crime. Or the two of us would be rotting in the dungeons since our youth."

It did not look as though he had managed to convince Loki of his own innocence, which saddened him greatly. He knew he was to blame for that, at least, a little. He had called the Jötunn a villain so often during the years; what right had he now to be surprised when the man himself believed it? Part of it had to be the other's penchant for pessimism, though, that had him think he would lose everyone's good will if he made but one mistake.

"What I mean to say is, whether it was due to possession or coercion, the attack on me was not your fault," he said with vehemence. When he could see doubt lingering in the red eyes, he asked, "Do you want me dead _now_, this very moment?"

Despite having been sure of the answer, his heart was gladdened by the shake of the other man's head.

"No," Loki said, in a tone that revealed he was relieved of that himself. "No, I do not. Yet my mind remains clouded. Some of the events I managed to piece together; though not all of it."

"Would you share with me what you _do_ remember?" Which was certainly a request that his friend would feel more comfortable to grant to his little sister. The resulting tale might be rather upsetting to Darcy, however, and finding out what had transpired the day before was a task Thor had set himself.

Nevertheless, he would have understood and accepted the other's reluctance to speak with him of such painful moments. Yet Loki seemed to hesitate _only _because his recollection was, what could at best be called, spotty.

"I went to the castle cellar, alone. I was seeking the...cube. The Cosmic Cube." Voice wavering and eyes unable to focus on any one point, he waited for Thor to nod in confirmation before continuing, "It was down there, I think. I found it. Although..." Abruptly he squeezed his eyes shut, the fingers of his right hand kneading his temples as though to ward off a headache. "No, it was there, but I did not take it, did not even touch it. I only watched... It looked so beautiful. Argh!"

Near violently he let himself slump back onto the cot, his head in hands, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

"Loki?"

At the sight of the Jötunn in such miserable state he wanted to open the door of the cell and go to his side. To hel with it; he should not have taken this so lightly. Jane had advised him to get help the moment she had heard that their friend had his mind played with.

"Loki?" he asked again, worried that he might not get through to the other man, wrecked as he was with pain. "Do you need a healer? I could go to Jötunheimr..."

"No!" the prince commanded, with the authority of his station and enough anger to excite the magic around them to a degree that even Thor could feel it. Of course, as a mage, he could feel it himself, and slowly, jerkily he moderated his powers as well as his voice. "No, this is naught a healer could help me with. My mind is mine to fix."

He looked up at Thor, more exhausted than before and while his eyes were free of tears, his hands were visibly trembling.

"There was someone else down there with me. I know it, I just cannot picture their face."

That was quite disappointing; though, he supposed, it was a ploy he should have anticipated. Someone cunning enough to lay a trap with the aid of an Infinity Stone would not be caught so easily. As important as it was to know their foe, he wanted to tell Loki that the man's identity could be puzzled out later, after he was recovered, just so that he would not further hurt himself.

Such reassurance might not have done any good, though, for his fellow warrior seemed determined to fight through the pain, to bring down the barricades that hid his memories.

_How could I ever think him a coward?_

"What I remember next is meeting you outside on the castle grounds and asking to speak with you. He, this voice, suggested that it would be the perfect opportunity to remove you from my path."

So far, that matched his own memories. He had thought the requested talk would merely be a continuation of the discussion they had had on the boat, at least until the first blade was thrown.

The mention of a "voice" in the other man's head let a shudder run down his spine.

"Do you know what this..." Fiend? Barbarian? Wretched bastard? "... what _he_ wanted from you? Apart from killing me, that is?"

There was fire in Loki's eyes now and yet the fear remained as he said, "Power". Short and simple and devastating. "He wanted to gain power though _me_, by making me take the throne. Or any throne, really." At that, he huffed out a mirthless laugh. "A mad king; just what the Nine Realms need, eh?"

There was a time when Loki on the throne would have featured in his nightmares. But now the thought only troubled him because he knew his friend had no interest in ruling over more than a table of scholars. Overhearing that group's "study time" had also taught him about Jötunheimr's laws of succession, better than his own tutors ever had.

He, therefore, nodded his head gravely when the other prince assumed that, "You might understand why I cannot return home, at the moment, and that neither should any of the others visit me here. I would prefer to keep my family out of harm's way, if at all possible."

Out of harm's way; so out of _Loki's_, in truth.

The Norns really were not particularly generous with the blessings they handed out today.

Still, no matter how noble and selfless it was to put his family's well-being above his own, an innocent man should not remain imprisoned for any longer than necessary.

"Surely you do not mean to stay in this cell until we have defeated our foe?" he asked, fully aware that the mage could have found a way around SHIELD's safeguards, had he wanted to.

Far from making such effort, he did not even rise from the cot, his eyes on his tightly folded hands when he replied. "It might be for the best. I know not what I will do, if am set free."

So he feared being coerced, again? Warranted or not, such fears ought to be confronted head on, especially when the warrior in question was more than up to the challenge.

"Nonsense," he said, without rancour, but with enough fervour to have Loki straighten from his slumped posture; red eyes full of confusion. "You have proven that you can fight this compulsion. And now that you know how, it ought to be easier to shut him out of your mind, yes?"

"I see you are taking the danger as seriously now as you did yesterday," Loki replied scathingly. He shook his head a few times, as if to dislodge a troubling thought before adding, with his mouth twisted into something resembling amusement, "By Ymir, I could never have imagined that the Mighty Thor would choose to protect the life of a measly Frost Giant over that of all others in the Nine."

"Because I refused to kill you, as you asked?"

It had come closer to begging, yet it would be cruel to remind him of that. "You are not just _any_ Jötunn," he countered, pointedly not using the hated slur. "You are my friend, and as there was a way to protect both you and the realms, you should not be so surprised that it was the one I chose."

Rendering the Silvertongue speechless would not likely ever lose its savour, though Thor wished it would not always happen just because he was being kind. It could not come as such surprise anymore, could it?

Though perhaps the lack of reaction simply stemmed from exhaustion, which seemed to have finally caught up with Loki. With his back leaning on the glass wall and struggling to keep his eyes open, he looked close to falling asleep despite the lack of privacy.

This was not the right time to argue about the status of their acquaintance.

"Fine; I will not make you leave this cage, but do not for one moment think that you deserve to be in it."

He took so long in responding, that one might have thought he had slipped back into a trance. Thor resolved to leave him to it and stepped away from the cell. Thus, it was with his back to him that his friend said,

"Not to worry, Odinson; hero or not, I know well enough that I am not the villain of this tale."

At least, on this, they could agree.

.........

CB

.........

How was it that, whenever you badly needed someone to punch, there was not a single bad guy lurking around?

He was tempted to ask Coulson for a little side mission; just a few practice shots at a gang of morons, who used their newly-gained powers to rob a bank. Or he could ask one of the actual heroes to train with him down at the gym. Both would have offered a nice distraction, though that was also why he continued to sit on his hands, instead.

He didn't want to be preoccupied in case Tasha woke up.

While she was still sleeping off the effects of getting tasered by advanced technology, he watched a godly drama play out on the camera feed. Fury had been mightily pissed when he'd come up to the Helicarrier's command deck to listen in on Thor and Loki's conversation and then discovered that he couldn't understand a single word the men were saying.

Personally, Clint hadn't been surprised by this; the alien duo only ever spoke English with each other if they explicitly _wanted_ to be overheard, and as one of them recently had his head invaded, they were probably not in a sharing mood. Especially in the Asgardian's case, it might not even have been a calculated move to switch to his native language. As Dr. Selvig had helpfully pointed out, after being subjected to the director's rant, Áesirmál was kind of the lingua franca of the Nine Realms, so using it came natural to anyone not of Earth.

Sadly, because this foreign dub lacked subtitles and a translator who knew more than one word in every ten, there was still no progress made on identifying the real threat. They'd have to wait for the God of Thunder to finish visiting his friend in prison before they could all get back to work. Hopefully.

But, to be perfectly honest, it wouldn't have made a difference if he could have understood the conversation, since most of his attention was drawn to the other screen, anyway. It showed a woman who looked nothing like Natasha, though he knew it to be her.

She lay there, sleeping peacefully and that alone was not strange. They'd been on missions together that had gone so spectacularly wrong that they were forced to hide in such convenient places like up a tree or under a parked car. Given those experiences, Clint could attest that Black Widow could keep still and silent for an insane number of hours, except when she had to smack him upside the head for humming some silly tune out of sheer boredom.

That she'd needed medical attention wasn't great but not a big deal, all things considered. A large collection of scars and the occasional stay in the ER were just part of the job.

He wasn't bothered by the restrains that tied her to the bed, either. Okay, yeah, he was bothered, but he wouldn't pretend to have never seen her in a similar situation. They didn't get caught by their targets that often; sometimes, though, getting caught was the actual plan, because arrogant douchebags turned more talkative if they had a pretty little lady before them, strapped to a chair and oh so helpless.

To him, she had never seemed helpless, not when she'd been surrounded by hostile SHIELD agents sent out to arrest her, not when he'd literally had her in his cross-hairs. She looked helpless now, though; her skin pale in the unforgiving hospital lighting, her red hair fanned out around her head like a halo, the tense expression on her face showing that her sleep wasn't actually that peaceful.

For whatever short amount of time, Nat had been made vulnerable and he wanted to tear the fucker who'd done that to her limb from limb. Or hold the guy down while she did the honors.

Yet without the right target neither of them could do jack shit. And thinking about that did him no favors, so he asked, none too gently, "Coulson, would you just shut it off, please?"

In hindsight, that was a bit vague, because there were several things he could have referred to, chiefly among them the other screen, which right now displayed the princes in the process of a rather heartfelt goodbye.

But his SO had to know what was going through his head, and didn't so much as blink before he cut the feed to Nat's room. His partner momentarily out of sight if not out of mind, Clint observed what the rest of the motley crew was doing to pass the wait time. In one corner, huddled around a single monitor, were Stark and Drs. Banner and Foster, either engaged in hard science or an overly complex version of computer chess. The professor was busy compiling notes again; probably for his Asgard/Earth dictionary.

He had no idea where the intern had gone, at least not until she appeared at his right with a cup of coffee in her hand that smelled like heaven. "Brewed it myself," she said proudly, holding it out to him. "Drinking that stuff out of the vending machines is just culinary Russian roulette, right?"

He thanked her with a weak smile, noting that Lewis wasn't up to her usual perkiness either. They were both putting on a brave face while worrying about someone they thought of as family.

As always, she'd been attentive enough to have brought drinks for everyone, and was now divvying them up between grateful agents and distracted scientists. Her own glass held something bubbly that he hoped was only soda, though no one would have chewed her out over looking for a stronger alternative.

"Thor's not back yet?" she asked casually, when she'd come back around to him, plunking herself down on the swivel chair on which backrest he'd been leaning. She had obviously left before the godly duo had finished their conversation, out of simple self-preservation, he'd guess. 

A quick glance over the woman's shoulder at the monitor in front of them revealed that Loki was now alone in his cell and attempting what went for meditation in wizard circles. Odinson had just walked out of the frame at some point; and it didn't take a genius to figure out what he was up to.

It had to be hard to keep one's emotions a secret when the local weather visibly reacted to them.

Over the noise of booming thunder Darcy confirmed his theory. "He probably needs to vent his anger on some unsuspecting clouds," she teased, but her tone made clear that she wholly supported the Thunderer's temper tantrum.

So did _he_, just for a more practical reason.

"Well, better out there then in here, with all the delicate equipment and us squishy humans."

Yeah, he should have known not to make light of the situation. In response to it, the intern might have liked to ram the office chair into both his kneecaps, though she made do with turning around and subjecting him to a look of absolute contempt. "Thor would never put us in danger."

Right. Never, ever question a god's honor in front of his friends. _Bad move, Clint, _he chided himself.

It was gracious of her that she forgave him after only one more minute of the evil glare.

"Besides, it's only thunder. If he starts summoning a bunch of lightning bolts, that's when you should find a desk to hide under."

The mental image of all agents on the Helicarrier practicing duck and cover, because one of them had insulted the God of Thunder's mom, had him smile. Then he actually laughed out loud as he heard a rather unique nickname.

"Any news of our scary spy lady?" Lewis asked with a cheeky grin.

Yeah, Tasha would definitely approve of that one. Maybe not of the offhand way that they were integrated into Foster's league of Extraordinary Scientists and Hangers-on. Though he thought it was nice that it no longer seemed to matter that they were working for a "shady government agency". Possibly because she was now working here, too.

But when it came to answering her question, he dropped the humor.

"She was awake for about five minutes," he said, hands around the coffee cup, wishing he had his bow instead, "In that time she managed to break a nurse's arm, just because the poor guy had been trying to inject her with sedatives. And she put two more agents in medical with the help of a ballpoint pen." Totally their own fault, he thought, for leaving anything sharp in the Widow's reach.

She'd beat herself up about the whole damn mess, though; because she was harsher than any jury at judging her own actions.

Fortunately, there were those who could appreciate Nat's good sides.

"Yeah, that's because she's badass," the intern declared, admiration shining in her eyes. "But she'll be okay, hm?"

He was touched by the concern in her voice, since the two women hardly had the best history. Though Darcy was the kind of person who would write a get-well-soon card to any idiot trying to pickpocket her, right after tasering them.

"Sure," he replied, with more levity than he felt. "Stark didn't exactly shoot to kill."

Still better than Clint, who hadn't shot at all. For which she would definitely beat _him_ up, though he couldn't bring himself to regret that. 

An attitude that apparently made him less trigger happy than a college student.

"I wish I had somewhere to stick my knife into," she informed him, and preceded to make stabby motions in the air.

Had his brain just short-circuited? Where the hell had that come from? She didn't even _have _a knife, at least not on her person.

Because he didn't know if this was the preface of a weird joke or the sort of icebreaker that she thought might fit their environment, he didn't respond to it with more than a mildly interested, "Huh."

Not entirely oblivious to how manic she had sounded, Lewis went on to explain, "It's not very impressive, just this sleek little thing that fits in my purse. But it works like a stun gun combined with an ice pack. Plus, it's super pretty."

Should he ask where she'd got it from, in case he needed an idea for a Tasha's next birthday? You'd likely not be able to find that at the average Walmart, though; maybe not _anywhere _on Earth.

"Loki gave it to me as going-away present before he left for home last year."

Loki, but of course. Who else would look at their friend, thinking 'What would she best remember me by?' and answer with 'Oh, I know, something pointy!'?

It did speak for the man's much softer nature, in contrast to how cold and scary he liked to be perceived as, that he had gifted Darcy a weapon strictly useful for self-defense and not for killing. It turned out that her own, rather jarring, statement had been motivated by the same emotions.

"And, you know, this is the twenty-first century; a girl oughta be allowed to pummel the asshole who's hurt her super strong guy friend,"

There was no doubt that she was convinced of that inspiring message but, judging by the look she shot him, she still seemed curious about his opinion. Now Clint, as a rule, didn't meddle in politics or social issues, because that stuff had far too many pitfalls for a simple agent like him to plunge into. In this instance, though, he knew just the thing to say, that he also thought to be 100% correct.

"I bet Laufeyson wouldn't mind if you did all the stabbing for him. In fact, he'd probably cheer you on. As he should."

"Damn straight!" she concurred, and lifted up her hand for an enthusiastic high-five.

The enthusiasm waned and the hand dropped back into her lap, un-clapped, the moment Thor trudged back on deck.

He looked a bit wind-swept and not as though unleashing a storm had helped to lift his mood even a little. In deference to how affected he obviously was by his fellow god's trauma they should have granted him some alone time. Instead, the poor man was swarmed like a movie star by a herd of paparazzi; only Foster seemed more interested in giving him a shoulder to lean his tired head on than in the news he might share.

Darcy, too, walked over to offer her support; Clint followed close behind, in hopes of hearing anything useful. Unsurprisingly, the director managed to cut through the barrage of other questions, demanding to know, "What did Loki have to say on who manipulated him?"

Thor must have expected that line of inquiry, because he only heaved a tired sigh before replying, "He does not yet remember. He struggles with his memories and 'tis not an easy battle, I fear."

That earned him a lot of sympathetic glances; they had all known that the wizard's mind had been tampered with, but to hear that he was also suffering from short-term amnesia was discouraging. Especially as they weren't talking about a feeble little human here.

"I would have thought he'd be healed by now," Phil said, sounding bewildered. Hawkeye understood the confusion well enough, after all they had both watched the aliens heal at a rapid pace from nearly fatal injuries, after their powers had returned.

The blond prince looked decidedly uncomfortable, possibly because he didn't feel that he was the right person to explain this. Even Space Vikings had doctors who dealt with this stuff. He did give it a good try, though. "The mind is a complex construct; a wound to it is not as easily mended as a broken bone. What Loki needs most now is time to rest."

"Time that we might not have," Fury interjected, not sounding angry exactly but he was clearly getting fed up with the lack of an opponent to sic his agents on. "The Tesseract has been missing for more than a week now and it's safe to assume that whoever has it also has the ability to mind-control people. We have to get this situation under control and soon."

Damn, he'd almost forgotten about the blue night-light. Why anyone would go to such trouble to steal the thing he didn't know. If he'd understood the report correctly, there was the fact that the cube could power a hole city for a year, but so could Stark's arc reactors. Even the stupidest supervillain wouldn't brainwash an alien wizard for a simple battery.

Though that battery was one of a kind and something that SHIELD claimed as their property. With the tacit blessing of Asgard's king, mind you. But the claim the agency had and the implied right to experiment on it had to be what made the big boss so eager to get it back. So eager, it turned out, that he was prepared to resort to drastic measures.

"If Mr. Laufeyson can't sort through his memories, we have ways to help that along."

The thing was, Clint knew this tight-knit group of friends, that had come together in a tiny New Mexican town, well enough to predict what would happen next. They would collectively speak up in Loki's defense, as they would for any one of their number; either Selvig or Thor would point out the dishonor in and illegality of harming a prince; one of them, he wasn't sure who, would accuse SHIELD of ignoring the Geneva Convention and Lewis would attempt to scratch Fury's remaining eye out.

Despite being able to empathize with the intern's anger, he put a restraining hand on her shoulder before she could jump at his SO's throat. Which didn't stop her from tearing him a new one, verbally.

"Are you guys crazy? He came here to help us and you think you have the right to fucking torture him just because he can't give you the information you want?" Since he was standing behind her he could not actually see her face, but he was positive that she was wearing that intimidating glare again when she channeled her outrage into an all-out threat. "You wanna know what happens to people who torture Loki Laufeyson? They get thrown into a tiny hole in the ice by King Laufey, to rot there until the heat-death of the universe. Which is loads better than what General Fárbauti would do to you, if he found out you hurt his kid."

"Well, _he_ would just hack you into little pieces," Thor added matter-of-factly, his arms crossed over his broad chest, and seeming far too pleased with that assessment. Was he speaking from first-hand experience or was it common knowledge on Asgard that Loki's mom was scary as hell?

Seeing as the blond considered the Jötnar his enemies, it was doubtful that he went around bragging of their threat-level for the fun of it. No, this had been a serious warning and, because of it, Coulson hurried to placate the angry student and her godly buddy. "Hey, hey; now, let's calm down people. I don't know why that is always the first assumption, but the director wasn't suggesting we torture Loki."

He hadn't? Honestly, Clint couldn't fault anyone from drawing that conclusion, because he had too. The Triskelion didn't house some poorly lit chamber, with rusted chains hanging from the ceiling and bloody carving knives laid out for easy use. But if anyone asked him, he would readily admit that he'd personally put a bit of pressure on targets who just would not spill the beans on a dirty job. And he knew of agents specifically tasked with extracting intel _efficiently_.

Good old Phil was, of course, going for the most humane method. Couldn't disappoint his idol, could he?

"We have therapists on retainer, who could help him remember via hypnosis. Or maybe a doctor could check if the problem is physical in nature."

Or they could try the truth serum; the existence of which had been a persistent rumor among SHIELD agents for decades, though the science department had never confirmed that they had successfully created it. They hadn't denied it either, so mentioning it could be useful in scaring the shit out of less savvy targets, as well as make junior agents confess that they'd taken the last jelly doughnut from the communal kitchen.

The Liesmith would probably not be fooled by that scare tactic. But what else could do the trick?

"We don't even know if Earth medicine works on Jötnar," Lewis said, still sounding defensive yet not as though she was about to explode for a second time. "And if he won't even let his own planet's healer take care of his head injury, what makes you think he'd let an Earth doctor do it?"

Right, the guy was annoyingly reticent and independent; he would cut out his own ruptured appendix if he didn't fully trust the surgeon.

He was also someone who had gained the unconditional love of his friends, so when Darcy spoke up again, to protect his interests, she did so in a much politer tone, turning it into more of a request. "Can't you just give him a few more hours to recover? You said it yourself, the cube's been gone for a week; what difference would a day make?"

"Fine," Fury said, one finger raised in the air, almost poking her in the eye because of how close to two were standing. He'd previously been completely unimpressed by her anger, but n way he was gonna take her attitude lying down. "We'll give it one more day. After that, we'll discuss all available options with Mr. Laufeyson." A reasonable plan that, followed by a totally reasonable reprimand. "And, Ms. Lewis, you might want to remember that you work for me, before you talk to me like I'm your fucking roommate."

She ducked her head in response, though if she were honestly sorry for her boldness, then she was hiding it very, very well. Somewhere underneath the wicked grin, that he could hear in her voice as she remarked, "Yep, I'll be properly respectful from now on. Sir." How could she be so damn cheeky? And why did that make him want to be friends with her? "But in light of me working here, could I get permission to visit Mr. Laufeyson for a minute or two?"

Oh, she was going for broke and even before she'd finished speaking Clint could tell that she didn't have the right cards on hand to win that round.

"Absolutely not."

She was gearing up to argue with him almost immediately upon hearing his refusal, but the director shot down her protest before she could get one more word out.

"You are a civilian and he is a thousand-year-old wizard with martial arts experience who lost control of who he does and doesn't kill. It'd be like letting you go for a swim with live sharks."

That would be true, if she were anyone but her.

"Loki wouldn't hurt me in a million years," she stated, with the same conviction with which she had defended Thor.

And Thor was happy to support her claim. "You are right, my friend. He would rather lose his magic and his shapeshifting for a second time than to do you any harm." Wearing a bitter-sweet smile he reduced the distance between them and slung an arm around her shoulders. "If he is not the one to make the decisions, though... He would never forgive himself if aught happened to his family. That is why he refuses to return to Jötunheimr and why you should not go near him."

"Okay but...But he can't stay in that cell. You know he can't."

She was clearly talking to Thor, came close to pleading with him; yet Fury seemed to take it as another slight against his leadership decisions. "He can and he will. Outside of that cage he'd be a security risk, plain and simple. And I know you watched the feed, so it shouldn't come as a surprise to you that he agreed with me on this."

That Loki had agreed to remain imprisoned was a real godsend; pun entirely intended. After all, no one here was so naive to think they could have kept the man in that glass box by force. If he changed his mind on this, it would, at best, function as a temporary hurdle; not much more bothersome than a locked door.

For the venerable Ms. Lewis, even that was too great a violation of the prince's rights. "Of course, he agreed to stay, because he feels responsible for attacking Thor. That doesn't mean we shouldn't drag him out of there kicking and screaming, anyway. Locking him up would be pure torture and you just said you won't stoop to that."

Several pairs of eyes stared at her, saying without words that she was overreacting. The intern quickly disabused them all of that notion. "He's claustrophobic, damn it!" she shouted into the laden silence, her voice cracking at the end.

Well, fuck.

This had to be one of those personal issues the enigmatic guy had shared with the group on an evening of charades, as even his former enemy didn't treat it as new information.

Thor didn't treat it as a joke, either, but as a problem that had to take the backseat to the bigger calamity.

"It will be difficult for him, yes. I wish it did not have to be so." He was so tall that he could peer over her head with ease; the eyes that met Clint, standing behind her, were filled with tears. "He can bear it, though, for you; to protect you."

"And who protects _him_?"

When her shoulders began to shake the big guy drew her into his arms. People hadn't given him any space, when he'd come in admits the thunder he had called up, but towards the god's young friend they were more considerate. At the sight of her naked pain they all dispersed, leaving for the science corner or the mess hall or anywhere that wasn't here. Only Foster and Selvig stayed close by, whispering reassurances and patting her back.

Clint took one last look at them, at the way they stood there in the middle of the command deck; wrecked like a group of agents that returned from a badly failed mission, and thought, _if the Avengers ever manage to become even half as great a team as these five, then they really will be good enough to protect the Earth._

For now, he'd be content if they could just get all team members back into fighting shape. Staring with the scary spay lady.

.........

DL

.........

"Are you sure you don't want to come with us?" Jane prodded, hopefully for the last time.

Darcy didn't bother to lift her head up from its resting place on her arms, just listlessly answered, "Yep, 'm not hungry."

Seriously, she couldn't think about food right now, and she was even less interested in eating at a place stuffed with nosy agents. Though spying on the spies could work as a distraction, which was why her friends were going there, she supposed.

But leaving the room meant taking her eyes off the screen and that was not gonna happen.

Jane sighed unhappily but then only squeezed her shoulder one last time before stepping off the bridge, the other two following her out at a snail's pace, like they were headed for an appointment at the dentist.

That observation was made by sound alone, though, because she couldn't look away from the one who was missing from their group.

In his cell, Loki looked to be asleep, which she knew was a ruse; he would never be able to sleep with cameras trained on him. It'd be great if he could get some rest out of the magical trance that he'd put himself under, which, according to Thor, was meant to accelerate his healing.

And outwardly he seemed almost fully recovered; all cuts and bruises had vanished, the last sign of lighting having met his skin had faded about an hour ago, the skin itself had changed from a sickly grey to a healthy blue, and the only reason that his head was still wrapped in gauze was that the SHIELD doctors weren't brave enough to put a foot into the lion's den.

She couldn't guess how it looked inside that head; it was definitely worse than he let on. For one, he wasn't braiding his hair or creating some new keepsake for his brothers, which was how he usually whiled away down time. Of course, the trance was designed to heal him but she thought it also helped to make the confinement more bearable.

And there was the matter of him allowing them to see him at all. Even if he was convinced that him being locked up was safer for everyone else, he could've still made himself invisible or created an illusion on his cell to block out curious eyes. But he _wanted_ others to see him, which meant he was worried about what he might do if he was left unobserved.

The number of agents with access to the camera feed was probably very small, though the little sister in her wanted to shield him form even the few people in the room with her. Apart from the guys and gals needed to keep the not-quite-spaceship afloat, only Tony Stark and Dr. Banner had stayed around. They weren't the worst of the lot but they also weren't people Loki knew all that well, and they shouldn't get to see him at his most vulnerable.

Subtly she navigated her way around the banks of computers, favoring those that had no one sitting behind them, en route to the spot Coulson had left minutes ago. Somewhere on that high-tech console there had to be a button to end the broadcast from inside Loki's cell.

She wasn't deterred by the possibility that she'd need the right clearance to overwrite any earlier commands; breaking through the restrictions that had prevented her from downloading music in the university library had given her plenty of practice.

The SHIELD techies had to have undergone some actual spy training, though, because they were immediately onto her.

"Hey, Miss, please don't meddle with the controls," said one of them sternly. He was some baby-faced, brunet busybody, who couldn't have been much older than herself.

What was he gonna do; call the big bad director? Heh, as if that would faze her; there were far scarier things in the wide universe than a pirate in a trench coat. She'd only caved to his order earlier because the man signed her pay checks, but she wouldn't do the same for a random lackey who hadn't even bothered to remember her name, despite that their boss had practically shouted it from the rooftops when he'd scolded her.

Was that grounds for taking out her taser-knife? Probably not, though it might feel really heroic to battle through a group of nerdy agents, to selflessly protect her brother's dignity.

For the sake of the agent, it was lucky that some responsible adult decided to step in, before she could start on either the stabbing or the hacking.

"Lewis, over here. I think I've got the specs you were looking for," Stark hollered, and waved at her like there were old work-buddies.

Not one to turn down an invitation form a genius billionaire, Darcy jogged towards the little niche where the science crew had been puzzling through inconclusive data.

"Thanks for, eh, saving my ass," she said with a smile at her savior. It was unlikely that she would have been fired for getting too close to a computer, she hoped, but she appreciated the rescue, anyway.

Both men were picking up papers from the empty chair next to them, to make space for her, and she was pretending to look them over with interest, to continue the act of being an attentive research assistant.

Only when she'd sat down was her attempt at insubordination brought up.

"I know I'm just about the worst guy to lecture others on not tapping into SHIELD servers." Because he'd done that a thousand time, no doubt. "But what were you actually trying to accomplish?"

She was torn between the amazement of Tony-freaking-Stark talking to her as though it were a normal thing that happened and preparing herself to chew him out over possibly making fun of her for what she had meant to do.

The mix of feelings produced a slightly sheepish, and also needlessly defensive reply.

"I was going to shut off the cameras because Loki is a super private person and he shouldn't be gawked at like he's a goddamn zoo animal."

The inventor didn't laugh at her; he raised one eyebrow at her emotional outburst and asked, "Is that all?" Without further prompting he entered a string of code into the servers that he must have been "tapping into" at this moment, and within seconds all monitors showing the horrible cell went black, including the big projector.

Darcy could have kissed him for this, but realized in time that this would have come off as too flirty, so she stuck with voicing her admiration aloud.

"Wow, that was inspired. Like, you didn't even have to think about what you were typing, right? And I bet you didn't trip any alarms, or just shut those off, too. Can you teach me how to do that, Tony? I so wanna know how to do that." As her stream of consciousness trailed off and she mentally went over what she'd said, and had to wince at the slip up. "Sorry, I shouldn't have called you Tony, but you gotta know that I'm genuinely grateful; that was real damn nice of you."

Great, now she'd sounded like Jane during a science ramble; way to go Darce.

Life proved not to be a complete dick today, because it seemed Stark didn't mind her turning into a crazy fangirl.

"Yeah, no, you can call me Tony," he said casual as you please, as if he offered that to anyone. "And I was happy to help; privacy issues are something I can relate to."

Right, he would. It was upsettingly easy to remember the big headlines about him, from his drunken escapades, affairs with this and that celebrity and, of course, the whole "I am Iron Man" business. She wondered if it was like this for her two princely friends, as well. Not the media circus, as the only media they could boast of was a town crier, but that their lives were under constant public scrutiny. That had to be stressful.

"He didn't strike me as all that shy, though," Banner remarked dryly, smirking at that understatement.

As they'd all seen how much he loved to show off his magic, calling Lokes shy couldn't be more of a lie. "Nope, he's a total theater kid," she said, which had her imagine him on a stage, reciting plays; definitely a career he could take up, if he ever fell on hard times. "I just think it's not being able to choose his audience, that really gets to him. People haven't always treated him fairly."

Another massive understatement but not one she felt comfortable discussing with virtual strangers. The two geniuses sure did have an almost uncanny talent for dragging up the uncomfortable stuff.

"I guess that's all got to do with a loss of control, just like with the fear of being locked in a small space," the Doc speculated.

And he was right, more than he could possibly know. When he'd been chained and locked in a tiny box Loki had absolutely not been in control. Which was no too dissimilar to his current situation, though at least he wasn't a teenager anymore.

Argh, even thinking about that story gave her goose bumps. Having it be reduced to some weird trivia, though, made her stupidly angry.

"Honestly, I wouldn't have thought that gods could have phobias," Tony said, while spinning around in his chair and snacking on a candy bar he had pulled out of a desk drawer. Did these come pre-supplied? "Hard to imagine that the two tough guys are afraid of anything."

Near aggressively Darcy gripped the armrest of the office chair to stop it from spinning, stared down the head of Stark Industries as if he were the intern and she the boss, laying gown the law.

"First of, Loki is not a god; he's a man like you."

At this point she wished that she had recorded the speech he'd delivered during his SHIELD Q&A last year, so that she could play it for anyone who made the same factually inaccurate assumption about him. He had done a much better job at making his contempt for his "godhood" known, plus it would save a lot of time.

"Secondly, he has a really good reason for being afraid of small spaces, like Thor does for being scared of frogs, ever since Loki turned him into one."

Which, maybe, she shouldn't have mentioned, but it was done in the spirit of leveling the playing field; the big guy would understand.

Frustrated that she apparently had to explain this again, she finished her triad with something she had repeatedly tried to knock into her friends' heads.

"And, for you to believe that a man can't be tough if he's afraid sometimes, is either a reflection of your own insecurities or your sexist upbringing or both."

As had happened before, her lecture had stunned two men into baffled silence. That is, until Dr. Banner started laughing. "She's got you there, Tony," he said, clapping the superhero on the shoulder good-naturedly.

Iron Man shot her a rueful look, conceding that, "Yeah, you're right. And, man, you and Pepper would get along great." He thought that over for a second, before shuddering exaggeratedly. "Though now I'm kinda scared to have you to meet."

Because Pepper Potts was one of the most influential women of this generation and family to Tony as Loki as to her, she found his reaction to them possibly teaming up pretty flattering. Was there a way to get an appointment?

Interrupting her daydream of a productive coffee date with the brilliant CEO was the reminder of the not so magical reality.

"Just, and please don't bite my head off for this, your buddy Loki is more or less imprisoning himself, isn't he?" Tony asked, a little wary. When she didn't reveal a row of secret shark teeth, he went on, "With all of his wizard powers, he could be out of that cell in a second, right?"

"Sure, he could. But he's convinced himself that it's the right and noble thing to do, to stay locked-up for a crime isn't responsible for."

Before his banishment he might have placed more importance on his own mental health and less on the safety of others; it was the first time that Darcy felt bad for her own part in changing that aspect of his personality.

However, being able to influence his decisions wasn't altogether without benefits.

"What really pisses me off is that it wouldn't even have taken me five minutes to get him to admit that he's being an idiot and waltz out of that cell like it's made out of snow; if director Ahab had let me talk to him."

"I could give you ten, fifteen tops."

After she'd berated him for talking shit about Loki, she should be excused for being blown away by that offer. Vague as it had been, she knew exactly what he proposed to do.

"Everything to annoy old Nicky," he said, grinning smugly at her amazed expression. "But SHIELD's security isn't completely useless, so me looping the camera feed will eventually be discovered. Fifteen minutes should be doable, though."

Again, she could have kissed Tony for his kindness, yet settled for promising him something he would appreciate a lot more. "You know, if this works, I'm gonna convince Lokes to let you experiment on his magic."

He'd grumble about not wanting to reveal all of his tricks, but he would forgive her once he realized that the inventor was genuinely interested in understanding them.

"Hah, that'd be a treat. I'd also like him to help me find out why I was smacked over the head with a wooden beam by a nice elderly lady."

So that's what happened. Boy, this day couldn't possibly get any weirder.

"Okay, now let's prepare out little prison break," Tony Stark said with a glint of excitement in his eyes.

Yeah, so, that plan? Not any more wild than a trip to the grocery store, together with a pair of aliens.

.........

If she hadn't known that there was a difference between normal sleep and the healing trance, she would have learned by watching Loki jump up from the army cot as if he'd been stung by a bee. He was a light sleeper but not that light.

As he'd done with Thor, he tried to get as far away from her as possible and, like with Thor, he wasn't exactly happy to see her.

"Darcy, please leave," he said, his tone panicky.

"Let me guess, because it's not safe?" she asked teasingly, her arms crossed over her chest, imitating Fury's stance from earlier; all that she was missing was the black 1950's spy-movie coat. "Sweetie, I drove a car into a sandstorm, tasered an alien prince, faced down several trained agents and went to confront an amateur wizard with you; none of that was safe but I did it anyway."

And how boring would her life be, if she hadn't?

"That is not the point. I could hurt you." Eh, that again. But he must have anticipated her objection to this, which made him amend that warning to, "He could _make_ me hurt you."

She didn't know who this "he" was and didn't care all that much. What mattered was to make her big brother believe that she really didn't need his protection.

This wasn't the time and place to argue about the equality of men and women but she did think she could win him over with logic, anyhow.

"Why?" she asked therefore, trying to keep her tone neutral like a professional scientist. He looked as though she'd gone mad, which was fine; she knew she got this. "Why would that asshole want me dead? He wanted the Cosmic Cube, no? Well, I don't have it. Thor told me that he also wanted you do take your dad's throne."

"Any of the Nine," Loki replied, eyes full of dread; the rest of him just looked tired.

"So? I'm not a queen of any of them, never mind that I totally should be."

He didn't laugh at her quip but he was listening; that was good enough.

"What's the use in killing me, then? That would be a big waste of your skill set."

One shoulder leaning against the glass of the cell, he bowed his head, seemingly needing some time to calm down. When he looked up at her he appeared to be resigned to let her stay, despite not agreeing with her.

"Oh, my dear, I wish it were that easy. I lost control during the battle against Thor and I could lose it again, at any time," he admitted, voice trembling form either fear or anger.

Well, she knew which emotion she'd choose for herself.

"No, this isn't easy; it's all sorts of fucked-up," she declared, and she was so worked-up about this that she might have slammed her hand against the glass separating her from her friend, if the director's demonstration of the cell's hidden features hadn't burned itself into her brain. Without a proper outlet she couldn't help but let her rage carry over into her next words. "And you can be pissed or scared or shocked by what you've been through; you shouldn't allow it to beat you down, though."

"Yet he did beat me." Because he had fought the mind-control and not managed to get the upper-hand, at least not for long. "My skills, the magic at my command, all these centuries of learning proved useless against a mere word from him."

That was so not okay but she would not start crying now. Anger was much more productive.

"He isn't controlling you right now, though," Darcy countered, wishing the stupid glass out of the way so that she could hug that stubborn brother of hers. "You're the one who keeps himself behind bars. And what if that's what he _really_ wants; to have you under lock and key, while he's wreaking havoc on the Nine Realms?"

A plot that further explained the attempt on Thor's life, 'cause together the two princes were a force to be reckoned with. Even if, at the moment, one of them wasn't in a fit state to battle so much as a house fly.

"What would you have me do?" Loki asked, sounding hopeless, defeated. "If I leave this cage and he regains his influence on me, then it will not matter that I am not acting on my own; any harm I cause will be my responsibility, regardless."

"Okay, then you sit this one out," she suggested, already knowing he wouldn't be thrilled to hear this. "It's not like you owe Earth anything; you don't have to fight for us." He wanted to, though, she was sure of that. In the past he might have claimed otherwise, so many times that he'd almost convinced himself, but deep down he aspired to be a hero. Not for the fame and glory, just so that he would be perceived as a good man by others and not as a monster.

Certainly, backing out of a situation that could have cost him his sanity didn't make him less of a hero; the classic knightly deed of protecting the maiden through self-sacrifice, however, had long ago lost its charm.

"We'll all understand if you'd rather leave for a well-earned vacation after the mess yesterday, but staying in this cell is not an option," she said sternly, tapping the prison wall before her for emphasis.

As though reassured by her words, Loki left his safe corner in the farthest part of the cell, getting so close to her that he could place his hand over where hers was placed on the other side. It was a testament to how upset he was that she could feel the cold of his skin even through the thick safety glass.

"Too gladly I would follow your reasonable demands, my dearest sister," he said, wearing the softest of smiles. "Yet, the risk is far too great still; If you were to come to harm by my hand, it would break my heart."

Damn, sometimes he was too sweet for words. And she'd been so determined not to cry.

She was, of course, touched by his open confession of love, especially as he couldn't know that they weren't currently overheard by half of SHIELD. Instead of selling her on the safest course of action, the love he felt for her only spurred her on to speed up the prison break. No way was she going to let him suffer more than he already had.

"I get that you're worried for my safety. You're not the only one, though." Well, to be honest, it was unlikely that any of the others were all that worried for her, but she had no doubt that they would rise to the occasion if she really were in danger. "There is the Mighty Thor with his hammer, Captain America with his shield, Tony Stark who's got a badass flying suit, and a bunch of scary agents; they can protect me, even from you." Thor definitely could; whether any of Earth's superheroes could measure up to magic remained to be seen.

It was, in any case, a comfort to know that there were people who could stop the worst from happening. And that was what she wanted Loki to see; that he didn't have to put himself through hell for her sake.

"I'm okay," she said, her left hand still hovering over his, the right keying in a password that Tony had "accidentally" discovered while browsing the servers. "I need you to be okay, too."

When the doors of the elevator had been forced opened, after they'd been stuck in it for at least an hour, he had dashed out so quickly that someone watching him could have assumed it had been on fire. Now, when the glass between them moved aside, he stood stock still, seemingly waiting for the door to fall shut again.

So, she would have to make the first step; that was fine with her.

It really only took that one step for her to be close enough to hug him and, before he could increase the distance, she just slung her arms around his waist and rested her head against his chest. Although he was quite a bit colder than normal and she had been warned that getting near him would be ever so unsafe, she didn't allow him to pull away.

"I know you're used to fighting your own fights," she said, soothed by his heartbeat that had sped up the moment she'd collided with him but was slowly calming down. "You're not alone anymore, though; you're part of a team. We get through this together, yeah?"

She could feel him letting go of his noble notions, as his own arms came around to hold her close. He placed a kiss atop her head, tears falling into her hair. "It's all right, my Lokes. You're gonna be all right."

There wasn't much more that she could do, than to give him the time and support to rid himself of the pain of having been manipulated in the worst possible way.

After a few minutes his tears dried up, the hiccupy breaths evened out. His voice was rough but warm when he declared, "I know not what I would do without you, Darcy dear." He brushed her cheek with his thumb, then kissed her brow with ridiculous gentleness.

"You'd still be sitting in a cell that's not meant for you," she suggested and, to echo his affectionate gesture, she got up on her toes to plant a kiss on the tip of his nose. "Now, how about we hunt down that asshole who belongs in it and send him to Hell without a return ticked?"

Laughter rang through the cage's chamber; the smile on Loki' face lingered a little longer and turned a shade wicked. "I like that plan of yours. However, there is a debt I need to settle first."

Thinking of her own debt to Tony Tech-genius Stark, she waved at the nearest camera that had just switched back on again.

With friends like these, she had nothing to fear. Neither evil sorcerers nor a bossy director. She really was one lucky girl.

.........

NR

.........

_"Natalia, focus on the tempo; you are out of sync with the others. Again!"_

_"Widow, there are times when it's okay to request backup; you have to learn to rely on people."_

_"That will be all, Ms. Rushman."_

_"Rest easy, my lady. I, for one, would hate to be your enemy."_

_"Come on, just put down the weapon, Nat. I really don't want to have to shoot you."_

_"You're fired, Natalie."_

_"We're on the same side now, Natasha, try to remember that."_

_"With us you will have a purpose, little girl."_

_"Romanov, you're booked on a flight to Kolkata. There's a scientist I need you to pick up."_

"Agent Romanov..." She had heard a myriad of voices in her head but this one, somehow, sounded closer, more vehement. There was something she needed to do, though, that was more important than listening.

"Agent Romanov," the speaker went on relentlessly, even as she struggled to rise, to fulfill her purpose. "We have been ordered to scrap the mission and return for debriefing. Three of our number have been injured, including yourself. You are currently being held in a secure room on the Helicarrier. You have been unconscious for the last eight hours, but medical confirmed there will be no lasting damage. Thank God."

The rundown of the SHIELD protocol for agents hurt out in the field helped to ground her. That it was Clint who coached her back to the here and now was what cleared her head of the last cobwebs.

"Hey Tasha," he said the moment she opened her eyes, in a tone only meant for her, without a hint of the earlier stoic professionalism.

It was good that it was he who'd been watching over her while she slept, considering the many unpleasant alternatives. She could have done without the concerned, fatherly look, which she'd gladly have wiped off his face. The snag in that plan was that, at some point during the previous eight hours, a very considerate orderly had secured both her wrists and ankles to the bed, using the sort of restrains common in mental institutions – soft enough not to cut her skin but too sturdy to be snapped by brute strength.

Well, she should have guessed that, when Clint said she was being "held" here, he hadn't meant she was held in suspense for her very own surprise party.

No doubt there was a good reason for the retrains and, in a pinch, she knew of at least seven different ways to escape them. She was far more worried about what else, apart from concern, she could see on her partner's face.

"You look terrible," she informed him, as any true friend would.

By the looks of it, he had found the one punching bag in the gym able to fight back; his forehead was one big, purple bruise, his left cheek hadn't fared any better; there was an ugly cut just visible over the collar of his tactical vest.

"My doing," she said, suddenly certain of it.

She remembered fighting him, needing him out of her way, to carry out her objective. Remembering the nature of that objective was the tricky part.

Clint wasn't too upset by the beating he'd received at her hands; joking about it as though it had only been the result of their usual sparing sessions. "Yeah, you didn't pull any punches. But, really, you've done worse in the past."

True, she had once been happily committed to the task of assassinating him; a time they neither glossed over nor ever dwelt on. Which was why he now touched on a far more harmless example of her cruel treatment of him.

"Like our pretend honeymoon in Kiev, where you broke my arm for no goddamn reason," he complained, obviously still bitter about that incident. He could hold a grudge for the silliest of things.

"If you'd stopped acting like a baby, I would have only had to break your thumb," she pointed out, as she had back then. To be sure, she would have been a little more careful if she had known in advance that he was going to whine the whole way to the safe-house about not being able to shoot a bow for at least a month. Her suggestion, that he invest in a crossbow for such occasions, had not gone over well.

Years later, he seemed to be all right with just laughing it all off as a funny incident at work. "Ah, good times, good times," he said, grinning at her. "Not to criticize your methods, but I still think you could have tried to look for the keys to the chains before you started breaking _anything_."

After he mentioning the chains, she pierced him with a meaningful full, until he finally caught on to her own predicament. "Right; you'd want these off. Just a sec," he mumbled, clearly embarrassed. Then he proceeded to fumble with the restrains as though his arm was still broken or he was doing this while blindfolded.

Put any kind of weapon before him and Hawkeye would learn to use it with admirable dexterity. Ask him to pull a strip of leather through a loop and he would turn into a total klutz. It was a gift.

Once her hands were free Natasha sat up and yanked down the collar of her partner's vest to reveal the angry red cut underneath, that ran from one side of his throat to the other. It wasn't deep and the medical tape applied to the edges at least showed that he'd had the sense to see a doctor. Or that Phil had made him.

"Just a scratch, hm?" she couldn't help but remark.

Clint had never liked it when anyone made a fuss about him getting injured; an attitude not helped by the frequency of him ending up in medical. With his eyes alone he silently begged her to drop the matter and, because she didn't want him to start playing mother hen for _her_, she ignored the nagging guilt at almost having killed her best friend, letting them both of the hook.

"So, what's the situation?" she asked, releasing her grip on his vest and allowing him to sit up properly again.

He looked grateful for the change in topic but not much happier with the new one.

"Eh, pretty much the same as yesterday," he told her matter-of-factly, though the way his fingers curled around a non-existent bow told a very different story. "The thief's still at large; the Tesseract's still missing, so..."

"Loki is compromised."

The warning burst out of her when an image popped into her head, of the alien smiling at her serenely, his eyes almost the same shade as his skin.

Fortunately, the threat had already been identified and contained.

"Yeah, we know. He's been kept in the Hulk cage since last night."

That was a relief, though at the same time it was disconcerting that this precaution had even been necessary. The cage had been installed on the 'carrier shortly after the latest "Hulk" incident and boasted such impressive features like bullet-proof glass, an adamantium frame and the option to give the passenger an involuntary skydiving experience, sans parachute.

The agents on board had all hoped the thing would never have to be put to the test, despite being relatively sure that it could keep Banner's mean green alter-ego confined for a little while. It hadn't been built with a wizard in mind, though.

Of course, it could have easily held _her_.

"_I_ was compromised," she said, with alarm in her voice that she could not quite suppress. The state of Clint's face should have been enough of a clue but it required another flash of memories rushing through her head - of a pool of water, the echoing sound of footsteps and of her priorities changing between one heartbeat and the next – for that to really sink in. In light of the danger a rogue agent could pose, she had to wonder at the lack of security measures, aside form the soft restraints and the archer sitting at her bedside. "Why was I not put in a cage?"

He looked uneasy, either made so by the idea of her imprisonment or because of the reproach in her voice. "Well, we only have one of those," he replied, tongue-in-cheek; worrying at a loose thread of his pants rather than to meet her eyes. "And, mostly, because you're not being mind-controlled anymore."

Wasn't she? How would he know? _She_ didn't.

And anyway, "I wasn't controlled; I only followed suggestions." Somehow, she felt the distinction was important. "There was this voice that seemed to know what I want, deep down, and he offered me the means to get it all."

_"You are so very burdened by your past, young one. That is no way to live; let me help you set it all to rights."_

"And you needed to kill me for that?" Clint asked, sounding slightly hurt.

Yeah, he could pretend all he wished that he hadn't been affected by her attack on him, but she remembered his panicked expression after she'd leveled the Widow's Bite at his heart.

"No, that was only meant to cause a distraction, so that he could get away with the Tesseract."

_"We cannot allow your companions to know the Cube was ever here. They will use it for their own selfish purposes."_

"Is there anything you can remember about this guy, apart from his voice?" her partner wondered aloud, kindly moving on from her attempted murder.

She tried searching her memories of that moment in the castle basement; someone had come up behind her as she stared into the water, but she didn't think that she'd ever turned around to confront him.

"I didn't see his face and I never asked for his name." Not because she'd been afraid to; it had simply not seemed to matter. "Loki must have seen him, though. He was down there with me." And the two men had stood directly facing each other.

"Awesome," Clint commented, with heavy sarcasm and a comically annoyed expression. "Sadly, our wizard friend has come down with a bout of amnesia that, coincidentally, had him forget all of yesterday."

Now, that was disturbing. She had assumed that they both had been manipulated by the owner of that voice; the knowledge that the stranger could have erased her memories as well made her stomach drop to her feet. Though, that begged the question: why hadn't he? Just because she hadn't gotten a good look at him? Or had Loki been perceived as the bigger a threat?

In that regard, the bastard had been lucky that she'd gone alone to investigate the possible Tesseract sighting, as there were five more members to their team, three of which had superpowers.

Speaking of which...

"Who else has been affected?" she asked, feeling rather shaken at the thought of any of them losing control like she had. Hopefully, the captain was fine or Coulson would be devastated. _His_ foremost emotion would definitely not have been confusion, as it was for their fellow agent, who kept frowning at her until she clarified, "You said _three_ of us were injured."

One could genuinely see the light bulb going off in his head, when her question started to make sense to him. "Oh yeah; the third one was Stark." Which would have been cause for concern - even though the man had no powers, except for a genius intellect and a lot of cash – if Clint hadn't grinned as he added, "He got brained by our tour guide." Okay, she had to admit that was pretty funny; the woman had been no younger than sixty and looked like she regularly knitted sweaters for her grandkids.

"Was she mind-controlled, too?" In that case, poor old lady.

"Or she just didn't think SI's donation was generous enough."

Laughing at Barton's lowbrow humor would only encourage him but, as she'd almost cut him open from ear to ear, she owed him at least a small chuckle.

"Did you bring the memo that advises us to suck up to Tony, so that he'll foot the bill for the property damage?" she asked, herself only half joking.

She distinctly recalled stained glass raining down on her, and replacing the ceiling was small potatoes compared to the havoc the God of Thunder must have wreaked on the castle grounds. The actual battle she hadn't witnessed, busy as she'd been with her own, but at the sight of lighting streaking over the window panes she had felt a sense of satisfaction, knowing that Loki, too, was close to reaching his objective.

Thank God, that neither of them had been allowed to make good on their plans. Or not God precisely, but someone whose divine ego had made him build a temple to himself in the middle of New York.

"Eh, even without that memo – and I'm not saying there isn't one -, you should probably practice some ass kissing in Stark's direction," her kind friend said, patting her knee in commiseration before adding, "You kind of owe him for knocking you out with his repulsors."

Ah, that was how she'd been stopped, then. In all honesty, that Clint hadn't done the deed himself came as no great shock to her. Because, not to far beneath the surface, he was softer than the baby blankets with which he tucked in his kids at night. She hadn't known that at the time, when she asked him to serve as her personal kill switch, though it hadn't taken too long to figure it out.

Did that mean she wasn't annoyed at being indebted to an eccentric man-child because of her partners ineptitude as an assassin? Well, no. She also wouldn't' hesitate to let him feel that annoyance the next time they met in the gym.

But there was something to be said for having someone on her side who refused to sacrifice her for the success of the mission. Maybe not even for his own survival.

She still felt justified in correcting him; stressing that, "_We_ owe him."

Her words had him wince, and fumble for something halfway between an excuse and an apology.

"Look, Nat, I know that I promised you to... And I was about to; I simply couldn't..."

"Don't," she cut in, kicking the leg closest to her with her socked foot, to put an end to his stammering. "It's fine."

It really wasn't; though, a discussion of his reasons for not terminating her would have forced her to examine her own ability to kill a friend turned enemy, which she very much liked to avoid. They were both damaged enough already, she thought.

"It's fine," she said again, mostly to convince herself. "Just tell that me we got _something _out of that work outing from hell." Other than a massive headache, that is.

"Banner took a bunch of readings." 

That this was all she got in reply proved what a colossal waste of time and resources the trip to New York had been. Although, it didn't necessarily have to be.

"It just goes to show that we should never have split up the team," Natasha reasoned, no matter that she herself worked best alone.

Fury had handpicked each member of the Avengers; they each had a unique skill set, had at least some experience in the field - regardless on which side they used to fight – and they could be relied on to watch one another's backs. That they had badly failed at the latter task did not have to spell an end for the team as a whole. Some things you could only learn the hard way.

At this Clint gave her a stern look, because he was always telling her not to request so many solo missions and to more readily accept backup. "True, but even together, I'd say we shouldn't go down anymore creepy basements."

"Prudent advice, I believe," a voice intoned from beyond the now open doorway.

The speaker was familiar to them both, but had arrived so soundlessly that Hawkeye sprang up from his chair with a startled yelp, yet retained enough presence of mind to draw his gun from its holster before turning around to face a potential threat.

"Hey Loki, fancy seeing you out and about," he quipped, deliberately placing himself in front of his unarmed partner.

The medical staff had been frustratingly thorough in picking her clean of her usual arsenal. Though they hadn't thought to take out the chair; over the armrest of the chair hung the archer's bow, there was a pitcher of water on the nightstand and the bed-frame was solid metal. Yeah, she would be okay.

Loki looked less than thrilled by the hostile greeting but he didn't come any closer, either.

"My dear Agent Barton, you really ought to stop pointing weapons at me. I might start to think you do not like me," the wizard said, his tone teasing even while his face was devoid of any humor. He seemed to put a good amount of effort into appearing normal but unsure whether or not he could pull it off.

Clint easily kept up the banter and continued to cover her; yet, ever so slowly, he was inching toward the emergency button on the wall of the adjacent bathroom, that would call in reinforcements.

"No, I like you just fine," he countered, almost in reach of his mark, "it's the mind-controlled version of you that makes me a little nervous."

"In that case, you can put away your pistol, cowboy, 'cause he isn't controlled right now," Lewis said sternly.

The young woman walked around her alien friend to get into the room, then stood beside him, one hand in his, ready to end anyone who dared to cough in his general direction.

So, it was a party now. Someone should have told her that there was going to be a party; she would have changed into a nicer piece than the remains of her faux office outfit.

But for a happy get-together they would first have to clear up who was and wasn't invited.

"Sorry, if I'm having trouble trusting that he's in his right mind," Clint said, and in spite of his mistrust he lowered his gun, probably so that he wouldn't hit the wrong person. "I mean, he just broke out of his cell."

Upon hearing that accusation, the intern looked up at the prince, turned her smile on the still armed agent and cheerfully admitted, "No, I let him out."

Fury must have been spitting nails when he learned of this; hopefully, there'd been a camera nearby.

"Not that Lokes really needed my help; that cell was as effective in keeping him in as a sheet of tissue paper. I still feel totally proud of myself, though."

Her blasé attitude on flaunting the rules, the apparent willingness to take a bullet for someone much less vulnerable than her, that she acted as the staunch defender of a man whom SHIELD had viewed too dangerous to walk free – all that could have been taken as evidence that Lewis wasn't completely in her right mind, either. To reach that conclusion, however, one would have to completely disregard her companion's reaction.

Throughout the conversation Loki had been looking at his young friend with an expression of such naked affection that a casual acquaintance would never have thought him capable of feeling, and it seemed that he was not speaking for himself because he was too stunned by someone else doing it for him, which had to be an almost novel experience.

Natasha, at least, had no trouble believing that they were dealing with the genuine article here, so she asked him directly, instead of going through his lawyer, "How did you get him out of your head?"

Somewhat sheepishly Loki brushed aside a lock of hair, revealing a shallow cut on his left temple. "Thor hit me with Mjölnir."

Sure, that would do it.

"That was nice of him," she replied calmly, which earned her a head-tilt of princely agreement.

Taking their casual back and forth as a sign that no shots had to be fired, Clint holstered his gun, and let himself slump back into the chair he'd shot up from a minute ago. "Is there a way to make sure your former master is actually gone and not still lurking in a corner of your brain?" he asked, in astounding show of tact.

The wizard grimaced at the word "master" but seemed to have waited for just that question. "There is indeed a spell which can ascertain that you are free of him," he said, now daring to walk further into the room, Lewis hot on his heels. "It is why I am here."

She expected him to go into full teacher mode and rattle off all the facts about this spell, as he was fond of doing. But he stood there, his friend leaning against his shoulder, anxiously waiting for a response to his suggestion. Waiting for Natasha's consent.

Well, if there'd been doubt about who was on control...

"Okay, how does this work, exactly? Will you need to get inside my head?" she asked, feeling more unnerved by the prospect than she cared to admit.

And Loki plainly wanted to give her any other answer but "Yes", and when he couldn't he tried to put a less traumatizing spin on it. "That is unavoidable, I fear. Yet it will only take a few moments."

Better than an hour-long session, if nothing else.

"I shall not insult your valor by claiming it will be painless."

A courtesy she found endearing, even when he cheekily added, "Although it _will_ be."

For both of them, she hoped.

"What might console you to know is that I need not invade your thoughts, in any fashion."

That was a relief, for both of them, she'd think.

"Now, wait a moment, how can it be non-invasive if you're mucking around in her head?" asked her knight in Kevlar, looking more appalled by the idea than she felt.

"Because the spell requires no 'mucking around'," Loki explained, his voice aloof due to the rude interruption but he was willing enough to explain. "Imagine it more as a hand brushing along your arm, to search for breaks."

That didn't sound so bad; a brush against her mind she could handle.

"All right. Do your worst, Doctor." She patted the mattress beside her, sitting cross-legged to give the man more room to work his magic.

As he sat down, he did so gingerly, his expression mildly abashed. From sitting next to an unmarried woman, Natasha assumed at first, and then he asked her, "Are you sure you wish me to do this now?" which had her realize that he was only nervous about making her uncomfortable.

Admittedly, she wasn't thrilled to have another person in her head, for the second time in twenty-four hours, but Loki was probably the least offensive invader, and anyway, "I hate not knowing."

His smile was cheerless, his gaze pained when he said, "That I understand." With two fingers he touched his own, uninjured temple, showing her how he planned to proceed. At her nod he placed his hand on her temple, near soundlessly whispering words in some alien language that allowed him access to her mind.

The sensation was like... Honestly, it was not comparable to anything Natasha had felt before. It was warm, but it didn't burn her; it prickled beneath her skin, though, as promised, it didn't hurt. Almost she could track the passage of magic through her. Yet, as it was with a dream you forgot the second you were fully awake, she could never quite grasp it.

The procedure was over before she knew it, though how long it had taken in truth, she couldn't have guessed. Dazed she massaged pins and needles out of her legs; beside her, Loki sat with his eyes closed, the spell obviously not having fully lost its hold on him.

She couldn't decide between wanting to sock him for letting her sit here in not at all happy anticipation and being glad for any minute without a final verdict.

On Jötunheimr, doctors were apparently taught to yank the Band-Aid off all at once and not to peel it back carefully, because, the moment Loki opened his eyes, he told her bluntly, "There remain some fragments of the hooks he has driven into you."

What a nice way to phrase it; perfect for the trailer of a horror movie. Thankfully, one of the few with a happy ending.

"They will fade, however, and should not allow him to influence you."

Okay, that was officially the most uplifting news of the day.

Natasha really wasn't the hugging kind but she might make an exception for the man who had taken that weight off of her chest. "Thanks for checking. Can you do that for yourself, too?"

He shrugged his shoulders and worried his bottom lip in a show of nerves. "I could try. Yet he has deceived me about my own mind before."

Meaning, he couldn't trust what he would find. Damn, that was upsetting.

"On that note, Barton told me you can't remember the fun we had yesterday," she said, leaning heavily on the sarcasm. "If I may jog your memory; when we were alone in the creepy basement, you were looking straight at our-" No, she would not call that bastard their "master". "-temporary boss. Is there anything you can tell us about him; height, eye color, some distinguishing feature, like a tattoo or scar?"

The chance to narrow down the search to more than just "male; can do magic" could have saved their botched mission and brought them closer to retrieving the Tesseract. Still, she knew better than to get her hopes up and so, wouldn't have been disappointed if Loki's amnesia had continued to leave them clueless.

That he was reaching out a hand for Lewis was, by far, not an encouraging sign. Strangely, he wasn't seeking comfort from his friend, just smirking at her as she clutched his hand. "I have been working on repairing the damage he inflicted on me, all morning. I can now recall most of the previous day. Alas, the face of our foe is no more than a vague outline, visible as though through fog. The Ancestors in their wisdom, though, gave me other senses with which to see."

He wiggled his free hand, letting bright green sparks dance over his fingers.

"And, like my sweet sister has suggested, now that I know him I will have no qualms about sending that old weasel to his well-deserved rest in hel, as I ought to have done long ago."

Ah, so they were up against one of the Trickster's enemies. When this one had bit the bullet, it couldn't hurt to demand a detailed list of them all. It would save a lot of time.

But, just for her own peace of mind, "I'm reserving the right to get in a few gut punches before you make shish kebab out to the guy," Black Widow demanded with deadly seriousness.

Hawkeye put his hand up like a kid in school. "Ooh, ooh, me, too."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lewis take a knife out of her pants pocket.

Well, she supposed, that was one way for their team to live up to its name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene of Loki in the Helicarrier is so iconic, that it simply had to make into my story, despite me veering off the movie plot a great deal.  
No matter what version of him, Jötunn or Asgard-raised, you put in that cage, though, I think we can all agree that nothing but Loki himself his actually keeping him in it, right?
> 
> Adding Loki's claustrophobia to the already harrowing experience is just my own personal brand of evil.  
And why not put the one person through mind-control who would have the greatest fear of being compromised?  
Joss Whedon has got nothing on me. *Mwahahaha* 
> 
> Thank you for reading and sticking with this fic through good and bad times.  
I wish you all the best.
> 
> See you next chapter!


	9. One common enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It shouldn't be so hard to figure out the identity of a super villain. Not when he so blatantly attacked the Avengers, forced everyone who came into contact with him to seek out a shrink and carried around the magical equivalent of a nuclear bomb.
> 
> But for two princely aliens who were doing the actual identifying, it apparently required ten thousand words just to spit out a name. The Skrulls had been so much easier to deal with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh. Hi.  
It's been a while.  
Honestly, I was not trying to keep you all in suspense.  
The simple answer is, my laptop broke (the second one, since I started writing this series. Maybe I'm cursed.) I could have continued to write but, given the keys that still worked, it would have been a chapter entirely without Loki or Darcy and who wants that?
> 
> Now that everything is back in working order, I do hope to post more frequently again.  
I promise, the moment I hit "post" on this chapter, I'll start on the next.
> 
> And now, for the long awaited reveal of this story's villain.  
Have a great read!

.........

NF

.........

When leading a secret government-sanctioned spy agency one had to be prepared to give one's life for the cause or, at the very least, an eye. But, apart from the occasional alien invasion, the job wasn't any more exciting than that of an ordinary boss of a big company.

To be sure, before he accepted the position, he could never have guessed how much bureaucracy he'd have to endure as the director of SHIELD. The worst of it – i.e. the paperwork – he could delegate to trusted people like Coulson, who hated it just as much but attacked it with the manic efficiency of a teacher trying to get every one of his annoying students to pass their finals, so he wouldn't have to deal with them again next year.

The meetings, though, those he could only rarely avoid, either because he was the one to call them in the first place or because they required his input. There were the briefings of agents for a new mission and the debriefs afterwards; budgetary reports by the heads of accounting, performance reviews of rookie agents, asset evaluations of the newest "gifted" and, of course, he had to constantly give updates to the WSC.

Out of all of them, war councils had to be the most chaotic: a mess of differing opinions on the right strategy, meticulous deliberations on how much force should and could be used, someone reminding everybody else of rules and regulations and international treaties of non-interference and the obligatory assembly of a team, as though they were running a fucking talent show. It was headache-inducing and that was true even without mixing in a pair of aliens, a soldier from the 40s, a scientist with Jekyll and Hyde syndrome and Tony Stark.

Also, there were the civilians he was unable to bar from the room, as they were of the opinion that they had a right to attend and the royal highnesses wanted them here and, frankly, Fury knew how to pick his battles. So, they stayed.

As did the wizard who had asked for this meeting, moments after having been sprung from his cell by a twenty-three-year-old former intern. Firing the woman for that, as well as for her complete disregard of authority, could have been satisfying, if it didn't have the potential to set off an intergalactic conflict. For the sake of his blood pressure, he really wished that were an exaggeration.

At the moment, though, Laufeyson seemed tense as a bowstring for an entirely different reason. About an hour ago he'd knocked on the director's office door, claiming he had new information on the person responsible for yesterday's debacle of a mission. Romanov, herself newly free of mind-control, had backed him up on that account.

Now, in light of recent events, seeing these two together would have made all sorts of alarm bells go off in his head, if one of them hadn't come in holding hands with Lewis, while the other had been followed in by her, finally less anxious, partner. Recent magic shenanigans notwithstanding, the group's approach made him feel like he was the principal they were sent to, for spraying graffiti on the school lockers.

Thankful that, at least on paper, he was only working with adults, Fury took their report at face value and then, once again, ushered the Avengers and their entourage into a conference room.

"All right, people; I know it's damned early and you'd all rather hit the pillow." It was, in point of fact, 9 a.m., though as he took in the tired faces and bleary eyes, he had to acknowledge that, apart from the three who'd been knocked out, most of them had been awake since yesterday morning. "But it might be worth losing a few more hours of sleep, to hear what Mr. Laufeyson has to tell us."

The prince didn't enjoy being put on the spot, that much was obvious, even if the only sign of his irritation was that he stiffened in his seat like a cat with its hackles raised.

"Yes I, too, would think learning of our enemy's identity is of paramount importance," he said grudgingly, despite looking as if it was the last thing he wanted to talk about.

Like it or not, that simple statement had turned the sleepy team into an attentive audience, none more so than Stark, who was the first to break the stunned silence. And probably also the first to earn himself a dagger through the eye.

"So, you've managed to beat the amnesia, after all. Good for you, Merlin. "

While that flippant remark didn't result in immediate retribution, Loki's nose wrinkled in distaste at the nickname. "Actually, I have _not,_" he admitted, his tone bitter. "I am now forced to concede that whatever memories I once had of my encounter with him have either been changed to the point of uselessness or they were destroyed entirely."

"Damn, that sucks," Lewis said, then leaned into her friend, to give him a one-armed hug.

The others sitting around the table were not nearly as demonstrative in showing their support, and it was hard to blame them for being more uneasy than sympathetic. An opponent who could make you forget that you've ever met him was a huge fucking problem.

Laufeyson was visibly wrestling with his own bout of anxiety, though he sounded ready to rain down some divine justice. "It is unpleasant to think of, yes," he told the young woman leaning on him, gifting her with the ghost of smile. "That little hurdle does not mean, however, that we are without recourse. Indeed, that honorless son of an unwashed hag shall regret providing me with the means of his downfall."

It should have been a contradiction for one person to be born a Frost Giant and then to have somehow earned the title of the God of Fire. Having the man sit across from him, his ice-blue hand cradling a blazing green flame, Fury could easily see where the Vikings got their inspiration from.

The display led Doctor Banner to draw a slightly less fantastical conclusion.

"Do your lost memories allow you to trace his...eh, magic?" he asked, stumbling over the un-scientific term.

The wizard slowly shook his head, saying, "Not as such." And just by the way his chin was tilted up and his tone turned suddenly lighter you could predict there'd be a lecture coming. "Magic, as I have once explained to my dear friends, is a force of nature; it does not belong to the person who is using it, no more than I would own the air that I breathe."

How very philosophical, and surprisingly humble for a prince.

"That being said, mages do each have their unique style of seidr, in how they layer their spells or craft their enchantments; 'tis akin to a writer's penmanship. And when the lady Natasha let me examine the manipulation on her mind..." An examination that Fury had been amazed to hear Romanov had okayed. "Well, the style I could make out there was one, it shames me to say, with which I am familiar."

The Trickster likely couldn't have much experience with confessing his guilt, but now he seriously appeared to be ashamed, enough so that he might have been thankful for a portal to another dimension to open up beneath his feet and swallow him. In lieu of a dramatic exit, he just sank deeper into his chair and absentmindedly patted the hair of the woman who was still resting her head on his shoulder.

None of the brave heroes seemed able to get over the awkwardness of the situation, so it fell to Nick to ask the question that was clearly on everyone's mind. "Is that your needlessly complicated way of telling us that you _know_ the guy?"

That detail hadn't made it into the earlier report and it was evidentially difficult to come clean on. Very nearly starting a war with another planet had to be considered the lesser crime, then, because he hadn't been that hesitant to answer to it.

Not that he really hesitated on the confession itself; the "Aye, I do" came about a second after the question. But then he paused, for a good long while, though he must have known that everyone around him was waiting to hear more on the enemy he believed to have identified.

Oddly, it turned out that the reason for Laufeyson's unwillingness to name names was that someone else in the room could have done it for him. "I _do_ know him," he reaffirmed, his voice low yet steady. "As do you, my friend."

He did not look at his fellow prince but at the wall behind him; still, it was no great mystery whom he had meant, given how much emphasis he had put on the last word, as though he was holding up this new friendship like a shield between them.

Whatever negative reaction Loki felt he had to protect himself from, Thor clearly would not deliver on it. The big blond just looked puzzled. "I do not think that likely," he insisted, in a tone that betrayed his confusion. "I do not know many mages and none who would stoop to such heinous methods."

The disgust was written on his face, and the brightening of his eyes into an electric blue could be seen even from a distance. An effect that might easily be amplified by what his friend had to say next.

"Let me assure you, you do know _this _one. It was many centuries ago that the two of you met, so you may be excused to have forgotten all about him. Although, I very much doubt you have." 

With practiced movement the wizard waved both hands in the air, in a way that made it look like he was conducting an orchestra; green wisps of magic followed in his fingers' wake and formed an image. Not of a person - as would have been only logical, given the topic of conversation – but of a big, black rock.

The sight wasn't particularly menacing and yet Odinson paled at it; gripping the armrest of his chair so forcefully that he'd probably leave indents in the metal. "You must be mistaken," he said, his voice shaking.

Fucking hell, he actually sounded afraid. Six-foot tall, thousand-year old bodybuilders with superpowers shouldn't get scared by floating holograms. Witnessing this had Fury itch for his gun or, better yet, for the button that would activate the Helicarrier's emergency protocol.

This time it was the Jötunn's turn to show sympathy, which was only fair, as he at least understood what had caused his godly buddy to go into panic mode. "As much as I enjoy being right, I would love to be wrong about this. Unfortunately, there is little room for error here."

The floating illusion had been switched off but Laufeyson couldn't keep his hands still; right now, they were drumming a frantic rhythm on the tabletop. It was such a glaring tell that it might have given the impression that it'd be child's play to interrogate the man; Fury had watched the footage from Puente Antiguo, though.

The so-called Liesmith was far from an open book but his regret was there for all to see when Thor reminded him, in a rather accusatory tone, "You told me he has been punished."

"He was. Eventually." Though clearly not enough to satisfy anyone. "Yet, as you well know, punishment has never discouraged _me_ from creating further mischief."

Ordinarily, a joke or a quip to lighten the ever-increasing tension would have been welcome; all that this tone-deaf bit of sarcasm achieved was to stoke the fire. As it stood, they were very lucky that Thor chose to crack the table when he slammed his open palm on it, instead of reaching over to break his friend's face.

The Thunderer didn't really have an indoor voice but the full force of that godly rumble only came into play when he was mighty pissed off. There was no question that he'd earned his nickname, as he shouted in outrage,

"What he did was more than mere mischief, Loki!"

And Loki flinched as if struck; there was no anger on his part, he just shot Odinson a look that bordered on deferential, and quietly admitted, "I know that."

How nice. Now, if the duo could fill in everybody else on what the fuck they were talking about, this meeting might actually turn into something productive. There was no chance of that happening, though, since the aliens once more switched to their own languages, or one of them, to continue their discussion.

Fury was just about done with these two teenagers and had it in mind to tell them that they should talk through their issues in their fucking free time. But he noticed that the people who knew them best all looked very unhappy with what had been said so far. In his opinion, what they'd heard was very little of substance, definitely nothing to get upset about. Despite that, Lewis was literally biting her nails as she asked a question that she apparently dreaded the answer to.

"Shit, this isn't gonna lead to another one for those stories where you've accidentally helped the bad guy, is it?"

Should he be concerned that there had been multiple occasions where Laufeyson had joined the dark side?

Apparently not, because the wizard was quick to defend his good character. "No, I would never have helped with... that. He and I were acquainted long before Thor had his unfortunate encounter with him."

Which was like saying that he hadn't provided the gasoline, only went to the same yoga class with the arsonist.

And whatever happened during that "encounter" seemed not worth mentioning, as both princes neglected to elaborate on it.

It took Stark' patented brand of tact to get to the bottom of the issue.

"So, spill, what did that acquaintance do to make you scared of a rock, Conan?"

"The rock does not frighten me," the blond replied, though he kept staring at the spot were the illusion had been. "It is more the thought of..." He stopped mid-sentence, shook his head forcefully, only to add quietly, "I cannot speak of this."

"Right, then we'll have to ask for a composite sketch from the _next_ person who gets mind-controlled," Barton suggested dryly, which got him kicked in the leg by his partner.

Loki narrowed his red eyes at the agent but didn't lash out, just very pompously admonished him. "You would be wise to reserve your judgment for our enemy. Our good Thunderer does not keep his silence on this matter to irritate you; he swore an oath that hinders him from sharing the tale."

Yeah, he'd heard of those oaths; ridiculously elaborate and with a longer shelf-life than Twinkies. He'd guess either of the noble warriors would rather hack off their own hand than to go back on their word, but he wasn't the only one to wonder whether there would be any, not self-inflicted, consequences to it.

"What happens if you break the oath?" Banner asked out of, not quite professional, curiosity. "Bad karma?"

"Nah, but it really pisses off the mighty ladies on high, right?" Lewis clarified, which likely made sense to everyone who had studied alien religions. Three months of that had to be enough to spot a handy loophole, as she went on to speculate, "But any vow has stipulations and limits. Even if you've promised to never, ever tell anyone, until the universe implodes, there's gotta be a way around that. Hm, Lokes?"

The clout this woman held with the two gods was admirable and also a little worrying. It only took one wordless exchange between her and the blue prince, who - at half a foot taller - looked like a child next to her as she stared him down, for him to wave the white flag.

"Fine. I suppose it makes no difference anymore," he said sullenly before finding his aloof voice once more. "I, Loki Laufeyson, hereby release Thor Odinson form the oath he swore me, on the sixth day of the eighth month of the 3291th year of Odin's reign." In a less regal tone and with a sheepish smile he added in Thor's direction, "Though, if you could fail to inform your father of this, I would be much obliged."

And of course he remembered the exact date; probably had it written down somewhere.

The Asgardian didn't look at all that thrilled to be released; might, in fact, have been glad of the excuse not to talk of an incident that still made him want to hide under the bed.

But a true warrior faced his fears head-on, it would seem

"If you could give me a moment to sort through my memories," he requested; his brow furrowed in concentration, as Foster kept brushing her hand along his arm. "I have not thought of this in a very long time."

Not willingly, at least.

"How did I... Ah, yes; I went to Vanaheimr with my family. Against my expectations, it had turned into an official visit, that left me hopelessly bored..."

.........

TO

.........

_This was so unfair. _

_He had come here to see his grandfather and now the High Council had decided to use his family's visit to hold an impromptu meeting with his father. The presence of all these lords and ladies at the table meant that Thor had to act the prince, had to sit still, mind his manners and pretend that he was interested in what was being said._

_Although Grandfather Njörð was a lord in his own right he did not much care for etiquette and propriety, so no one was scolded for running in the hallways, getting mud on their boots or slurping their soup. Uncle Freyr had once told him that the former king had not grown up at court and only moved into Vanaheimr's palace shortly before his marriage to the queen; therefore, to him, all these rules that the nobility was supposed to follow seemed frivolous._

_That way of thinking made_ _Njörð one of Thor's favourite people._

_Sadly, no matter their opinion of them, courtly manners had to be observed when he found himself in a room full of the realm's most powerful nobles._

_It would not have been so bad had any of the council members brought along a son or granddaughter, so that he would have someone to exchange tales with, while they sat here and ate. Yet, as far as his eyes could make out, there were only adults in the feast hall, not a single person near his age. _

_In his absence, Sif surely was having a ton of fun learning the art of battle from Volstagg, the son of Asgard's weapons master. Lessons that _he_ was missing out on, because of some silly banquet._

_Ugh, it just was not fair._

_He was listlessly stabbing a piece of fish with his knife, something he was not supposed to do either, when the Norns finally had mercy on him._

_"Thor," a deep voice addressed him. At once, he loosened his grip on the cutlery and waited for the chiding that did not come. _

_Instead, his grandfather kindly suggested, "Why do you not go outside and explore the gardens, my lad?"_

_In that moment the prince would have loved to rush to the other side of the dais and throw his arms around the Vanr, but that would not have been proper. Instead, he gave a warm smile in thanks. He did not receive one in return – Njörð did not smile often – but the somewhat conspiratorial wink in his direction meant that at least one person in the room sympathised with his utter boredom._

_Thrilled at the prospect of being excused from his duties, he would not have hesitated to leave the hall, had Father not ordered him to remain here and "observe the intricacies of inter-realm diplomacy."_

_Dull as it sounded, it was obviously important, so there was little chance of escape; especially as the king was already irritated. "There is no need to indulge the boy so," he said sternly, "He needs to learn."_

_At this, the lord of Nóatún frowned. "Learn what, Odin? How to sleep with his eyes open?"_

_It was always just "Odin" with him; never "Your Grace" or "Allfather", not even "Borson". Of course, Njörð was more than two millennia older and the king's good-father. Yet, to use such an informal address in front of an audience was doubtlessly a deliberate slight, which might have bothered Thor, were he not used to one half of his family greatly disliking the other half. As it was, he should be glad that there would be no heated arguments between the two, like there tended to be when Freyr was present. _

_He was, however, prepared for more snide remarks and politely phrased insults._

_Luckily, Mother was also here, and she knew how to prevent the worst of it._

_"I think an hour spend in the garden is a wonderful idea," she said calmly, pleasantly. "After all, there is no better cure for sleepiness than to catch a breath of fresh air."_

_She never took sides in their family's conflicts and yet one could have easily accused her of doing so now. On the other hand, he liked to imagine that this was simply her way of acknowledging that today's lesson would be sorely lost on him._

_Just as Father recognised when a battle was lost, for now he gracefully allowed, "Very well, you may go." Before excitement made Thor leap from his seat, the king lifted a finger, effectively spelling him in place, without using a wisp of magic. "But you will go no further than the boathouse. And you must be back in time to say farewell to our honoured guests."_

_The aforementioned guests took great pains not to listen in on the conversation between the members of the royal family, by talking idly amongst themselves or studying their near empty plates. _Grandfather is right; court etiquette is rather silly, _Thor thought to himself as he waited to be dismissed._

_Any words he might pick could too easily have betrayed his eagerness to be away and so he only nodded in agreement with the restrictions, then hid his grin at the answering nod._

_He remembered not to run the length of the hall but once he was beyond the wide white doors there was no stopping him. The servants he met were cautious enough to get out of his way or he might have knocked them over in his haste. _

_The moment he stepped onto lush green grass he huffed out a sigh of relief. For one, he was glad to hear no more about how a recent troll incursion was affecting the grain prices. Moreover, he was amazed by the sight that greeted him._

_The gardens of Nóatún were vast and wild. Visitors were met with a riot of colours derived from an eclectic mix of trees and flowers. Many of these plants had been collected on voyages Lord Njörðr had undertaken in his youth. Although he had once been king of all of Vanaheimr, seafaring was his true passion._

_When he beheld the ships moored at the pier - those meant for sailing not for flying - Thor regretted that he was not old enough to have known his grandfather at his most adventurous. How grand it would have been, to explore the waters of the Nine and beyond with him! Alas, Njörðr had decided his wandering days were done and his grandson was not yet allowed to follow in his footsteps. _

_Of course, adventure could be found not only on faraway realms._

_In fact, the gardens were the perfect place to start, because in them there was always something new to discover. On his way to the very centre he came upon an orange-and-yellow striped sólskin tree with the help of which he could measure how much he had grown since his last visit. There was a row of blackberry bushes that housed a tribe of fairies with beautiful iridescent wings and, a little further on, a pond with water snakes so tiny, that a dozen of them could have fit in his palm._

_But the main attraction was, by all accounts, the topiary. Depicted in splendid detail were prominent figures and creatures of the realm's history. Because Vanaheimr had existed for many more millennia than Asgard, the legends surrounding these figures were too numerous to remember. Naturally, he knew all about the kings and queens who had been immortalised here, given that some of them were his ancestors. The one Thor liked best was Jörð, a ruling queen of long ago; the artisans had imagined her on a thrown of vines and flowers for, similar to his own powers, she could summon rain to nourish the crops._

_He wondered whether she had looked anything like him, as well. It was impossible to tell, of course, when all of her was green and her wavy hair made of leaves. Maybe he would find a portrait of her in the castle. _

_That thought brought to mind that he would have to return to the feast hall soon; he had only been given one hour of respite. Determined not to waste any more precious time, he sketched a bow at Jörð and continued down the gravel path. If he hurried he would be able to make a full circuit of the garden and still arrive promptly to say goodbye to the honourable uninvited guests. _

_The time constraint did not take away from the enjoyment of the day, though. He snatched fruit from overhanging branches and fought a mock battle against two shrubs that had been cut into the shape of warriors with their swords raised. Only upon reaching the seashore did he look up at the sky to deduce the hour. _

_Pleased to discover that he did not have to continue his lesson on diplomacy just yet, Thor went into the boathouse to examine the vessels stored within. Most of the ships were very old but they were all in good repair; his grandfather would not have allowed anything else. _

_The little faerings, favoured by fishermen, were quite similar to those found on Asgard, though at home they were not painted such splendid hues of blue and lilac and, in one case, several intermingling shades of green that looked like grass swaying in the wind. _

_Of the knerrir there were four; great cargo ships that had carried Njörð over the wide expanse of Vanaheimr's oceans. Each was decorated with the insignia of his house – an open seashell bearing a pearl. _

_The sole skeið was similarly adorned. It might be seen as odd that the warship was so well-cared for, when Nóatún's lord had last gone to battle during that nasty conflict with Asgard, now nearly four millennia past. Yet Thor knew it was kept ready for use, or kept at all, because it had once belonged to his grandmother; a shield-maiden of renown, just as his mother after her._

_The other longship, however, was unfamiliar to him. It could not be owned by one of the council members for they had _flown _here from Central Vanaheimr. Also, the make of it was not typical for the realm at all. Entirely white - from the billowing sail to the dragon carved on its prow – it looked badly out of place among the vibrant sea of colours. And when he ran a hand along the hull as he walked around the ship, he discovered that it was not constructed from timber but from a much smoother, colder material, almost like ivory. _

_Bone, he realised._

_Blood red runes had been painted on one side, denoting it as _Thurs-Glófi_ – an appropriately odd name for an odd ship._

_Dread and excitement warred within him. The very realistic figurehead announced that this was a drakkar, a dragon ship, which was the vessel of choice for pirates. No mention had been made of them troubling this part of the realm or of one of their vessels having been captured. If pirates had anchored here without anyone being the wiser, then they were of an especially dangerous sort. _

_Yet every grant adventure contained at least a little bit of danger._

_Thor justified walking up the gangplank with the duty he owed to his grandfather. If this land was to be raided, the responsible thing was to warn everyone, was it not? First, though, he had to assess the threat. _

_He learned quickly that none of the crew had remained aboard, which was fortunate. The axe he had received for his last centennial was strapped to his back but even with Jarnbjörn he might not come out the victor in a battle against a group of brutal bandits._

_As well as saving him from an embarrassing defeat, the absence of any and all foes made it possible for him to investigate what valuables had been stolen. For that task he ventured further into the ship, towards the cargo hold. In here he was met with even more white; the planks he walked on were bleached bone just as they had been on deck, the walls were lined with leather of the same brightness. He had to wonder what kind of animal would provide such skin. Or the bones, for that matter. Whatever it was had to be enormous. _

_In any case, the people who crewed this ship seemed to be talented hunters, yet successful pirates they were not. The hold was empty of crates or treasure chests; there was not even a keg of ale for the journey. _

_The only thing to truly captivate his interest was the lighting, of which he could not find a source. It was the glimmering blue of water hit by the sun that he knew well from the many times he had stood on his balcony, watching Asgard's sea spill over the edge of the realm. The longer he beheld it, the more he felt compelled to seek it out, as though it were alive and beckoning him closer._

_Just as he was ready to end what seemed a fruitless search, Thor glimpsed a wisp of blue shining through a crack in a door which, on an ordinary ship, led to the captain's cabin. Should he dare open it? _

_All kinds of traps could have been laid out for the unwary; magical wards that would burn his boot if he stepped over the threshold; a rabid beast, locked inside, could jump at him; or he might be confronted by a very irate pirate captain._

_But _ _only a coward would turn back now._

_Thor Odinson was the descendant of heroes; he was not going to let fear dictate his action. In one smooth movement he unstrapped Jarnbjörn from his back and ripped open the door, prepared to fight off an attack._

_His "attacker" proved to be so formidable that he almost dropped his axe, as his body shook with laughter. Sometimes, the simplest answer was the one closest to the truth. Therefore, it ought not to have surprised him when the light revealed itself to be only a light; left on, perhaps, to lead the way to the cabin. Or to heat it during the night as, although it was little more than an illusion, it was oddly warm. Comforting, really, like a blanket. _

_One hand outstretched towards the pulsing blue flame he had to suppress a yawn. His hour of reprieve had to be over by now, but surely there was no harm in him staying just a few more moments to rest, when he was so very tired. _

_The cabin was as empty as the cargo hold, which meant there was nowhere for him to sit or lie down, yet that did not worry him. The light grew, engulfed him and then he slept as though on the softest of feather beds._

_........._

_"Hm. That took longer than I predicted," a voice remarked thoughtfully while Thor struggled to blink his eyes open. "The spell might have been too strong, after all; you are rather on the small side."_

_Was that so? With his head pounding and his vision still shrouded in blue, it was difficult to make out if he was being mocked or the speaker was just exceptionally tall. _

_"Ah, there now; easy, lad."_

_A callused hand steadied him, preventing him form falling out of his chair. A chair he had before not been sitting on._

_"Where am I?" he demanded to know and hoped that the anger in his voice managed to mask his apprehension. It was not every day that he woke up in a place that - and he could say this with certainty - he had not walked to under his own power. _

_"This is my home," the possible captain informed him, finally stepping away enough so that his face could be seen. The man was indeed tall, but otherwise he seemed almost bland. Neither old nor young, handsome nor ugly, with a face that was easily forgettable. Yet, there was an air of strength about him, even though he had not the built of a warrior. "I suppose you thought to awake _here_, instead."_

_In the stranger's upturned palm appeared a miniature version of the drakkar, that was either an actual toy model or a convincing illusion._

_Urgh. Of all the opponents the Norns could send his way, why did it have to be a mage? He would have preferred to fight a pirate crew._

_Never having been sensitive to magic, Thor could not tell how much of it the man possessed. The wisest course, then, was to find out why he was here and not to engage in battle. Even more so because, while asleep, he had been divested of his axe._

_"Oh, that was _your_ ship," he said with exaggerated bewilderment, partly to feign innocence, though he truly had imagined someone more menacing as the bone ship's owner. Holding one hand over his heart the prince bowed his head and tried very hard to sound sincere as he showed himself contrite, "In that case, I am sorry to have gone aboard uninvited. But I was merely having a look around."_

_If only he were not so terrible a liar._

_"Now, that must have been one thorough look, if by that alone you activated the wards," the mage countered mockingly. _

_And a strange ward it was, that put him to sleep and then transported him to a dark room against his will. Thinking on this deeply unsettled him, so he tried to focus his mind elsewhere, mainly to talking his way out of whatever trouble he was now in._

_"I felt I had to look thoroughly, as your ship seemed not of Vanir make and I might have discovered you had ill intentions towards the people of Nóatún."_

_A sensible reason for a bit of trespassing, if he thought so himself, yet it just made his captor chuckle._

_"So, you claim to be a hero, dedicated to protecting the innocent?" the man wondered, intently gazing down at Thor, who was grasping both sides of his chair as it was the only thing in the room he could see clearly. Apart from the other occupant, that was. _

_And that changed all too quickly, when the mage straightened to his full height, which left half of him in shadow. In a far less amused tone he went on to say, "Perhaps you are; I will not say aught to the contrary. But that is not why you stepped onto my ship. No, you were after something; a spot of fun, a tale to tell... " _

_A fist was slammed against the table before him that only then, and only for that moment, flashed into view. _

_"Hah, I know; it is treasure you were hoping to find, was it not?"_

_A glowing ruby shimmered into existence; either floating in the air or placed on the not-visible table. _

_"On that count, you are in luck," he was told near cheerfully. "Of treasure I have plenty."_

_Suddenly he could see the entirety of the room, now that it was illuminated by the same bright blue which had lured him into a trap. Unlike on the ship, here it was outshone by piles of golden trinkets, stacks of steel blades, an array of glittering relics that littered the floor._

_Apparently, he had been right in branding the captain a bandit. Of course, the ludicrous abundance of wealth could have been augmented by magic that would make it disappear the moment there was no one to impress anymore. Some of it, however, had to be real, or the mage could not have pulled a spear from the pile and loudly struck the ground with it._

_"I fine collection, no? And I shall show myself a gracious host by allowing you to pick one item to take home with you."_

_A gracious host, to be sure, and a gracious offer, which Thor would readily have accepted, three centuries past, when he had still been a naive child._

_"You would gift me with something that you believe I meant to steal from you moments ago?" he asked, his tone sceptical. _

_Unsurprisingly, the other shook his head, his expression condescending as he replied, "Ah-ah, I did not say I would make you a gift. Nothing worth having is ever without cost." Which begged the question, what the mage had paid to gain his treasure? Leaning forward with both hands on the spear, he made no mention of that but suggested what would pay for a piece of his ill-gotten collection. "How about a challenge, hm? Young men like you are always glad to prove your strength, is that not so?"_

_Given their difference in height, it should be obvious that Thor was not yet of age. Calling him a "man" was nothing but flattery, then. It was true, though, that he enjoyed to show off his mettle as a warrior, and challenges to that end had always been hard to pass up. Nevertheless, he _could_ say no; he had not been threatened with harm if he did. He also had not been offered a way out of this room that - to his eyes, at least - did not have a door. _

_Praying that this would lead to the ending of a heroic tale to share with his friends as well as to his freedom, the prince gathered all his courage and said boldly, "All right, I accept. What sort of challenge did you have in mind?"_

_That far too pleased smile on the other's face almost made him regret his decision._

_"Oh, that depends on where your strengths lie."-The spear was pointed at the table, prompting it to be laden with platters of food-"You may either clear all of these plates in the next hour."- A twirl of the spear added a fine drinking horn, decorated in gold-leaf-"Drain this cup in no more than three draughts. Or, should you prefer a physical feat, you can try yourself at reaching the peak of the mountain before the break of dawn."_

_Eh. Was this a jest?_

_"What mountain are you speaking of?" he questioned rather rudely, because by this point any nervousness he might have felt around the odd sorcerer was replaced by annoyance. This was all an attempt to make him look the fool, he just knew it._

_Unimpressed by his temper, his host lifted a single grey eyebrow and directed his weapon at the ceiling. "Well, _this_ mountain, naturally. My mountain. Where else did you think we are?"_

_Right. Though he hardly could have guessed at his surroundings based on a single room. And the man before him did not look much like a Rock Giant. Nor like a member of any specific race. Thor did not know how that was possible nor how to ascertain that he truly was not still on Vanaheimr._

_At least for the latter conundrum he soon received an answer, without even having to ask._

_"Go ahead, have a look," the mage said encouragingly, waving his free hand at a wall that suddenly sported a door-shaped opening._

_Gingerly, he shoved back the chair and stood, only then pondering why he had not done so before, when nothing had been stopping him. He shook off that worrying thought and walked the few paces to the door, fervently wishing he had his trusty axe with him._

_The blue light followed at his heels like a loyal dog, which was a nice gesture but not very helpful. Even with the sun's full might shining down on it, the hallway he stepped through would not have brightened to more than a lighter shade of black. That and the rough-hewn state of the walls betrayed that he was, indeed, trapped in the bowls of a mountain. _

_As he tried to make out anything beyond the cave he was startled when a hand patted his shoulder._

_"So, what will it be – a meal, a drink or thrilling hike?"_

_The choice, in the end was simple. Yes, climbing to the peak would provide a chance at freedom and at escape, if the mage turned from hospitable to hostile. But not having an unobstructed view of the sky made it too risky to wager that he would accomplish anything before sunrise. For all he knew, that was mere moments away._

_Not voicing his reasoning, he walked past the smirking man, back into the treasure chamber. Where his decision was made even easier, once he took a closer look at the "refreshments". The meat dishes were uncooked and a sickly grey, the fish was purple and the single vegetable on the table seemed to be a bowl of stewed grass. It would be a genuine challenge to keep any of that down and his stomach would not thank him for the attempt._

_Compared to the food, the drink looked harmless. Which was, in itself, suspicious. Thor was well aware that he was not meant to win; that this was not a contest between two honourable men. There would be a cruel twist hidden in any of the three challenges and he feared that he was not clever enough to puzzle out each one. _

_Therefore, even as he indicated his choice, he still could not suppress a sense of trepidation. And the way he was eyeing the drinking horn critically did not long go unnoticed by the mage who had taken a seat across from him, on a chair conjured at the flick of a wrist._

_"Oh, no need to be so suspicious," he said with an air of injured pride. "Had I wanted to poison you, there would have been ample opportunity for it while you were asleep." _

_The reminder of how vulnerable he had been before he woke in this strange place was hardly a comfort. Not, when his current situation was only a marginal improvement. Though now, at least, he had that chance to act._

_The moment he picked up the chalice a hand was placed on its rim, so that he could hear a dire warning. "Remember; no more than three draughts or you will lose."_

_The challenge or his life?_

_Well, there was nothing for it but to pray that the Norns were not done with him yet._

_After a fortifying breath Thor lifted the drink to his mouth and took his first sip. If there was any poison mixed in, it was very well hidden, for all he could taste was water - clear and invigorating as from a spring. So he drank with gusto, which had him convinced that, once he put the cup down on the table, he had emptied it at least halfway._

_One hope-filled look showed him how wrong he was. It seemed, not even a drop was missing from before. How could that be? He glared at his host; wishing he could accuse the man of trickery. Yet where was the trick, here? In the cup that showed him falsehoods or in the drink that would not dwindle?_

_It mattered not, either way. If he stopped now he would forfeit the challenge. Anyone who knew him could attest that Thor had never given up a fight. With anger churning in his gut he picked up the drinking horn once more, and took a mighty swig. Maybe that that was the secret of success; to drink as much as possible, all at once._

_And he tried his best, he truly did. He drank until his lungs protested and he felt as though he had swallowed a bathtub of water. The cup in his hand had not lightened measurably yet he did not let that discourage him. He peered inside, expecting to see perhaps a trickle to have remained at the bottom, and then was tempted to throw the whole contents of it at the mage's placid face._

_"This can...," he said, his breath laboured like it was after a particularly demanding training exercise, "This cannot be done. You... you made it im... impossible."_

_At this recrimination the other just scoffed. "I did no such thing. In fact, I manipulated neither you nor the cup you are holding; you have my word." As customary, he placed a fist over his heart, making it a binding oath. That should have been enough, but Thor must have appeared on the verge of losing his temper – and, indeed, he was -, because he was offered a way out. "Of course, if you would like to call an end to this challenge, all you need do, is to admit defeat."_

_Now, people had told him he was too impulsive, on several occasions. Mother would always chide him when he did not employ his wits. In spite of his nature, he could recognize when he was being baited to act recklessly. A dragon, however, could not recall its fire once it was unleashed, no more than _he _could reverse a step taken once he realised his mistake._

_So, like a fool, he declared, "No, this will end when I have drained the last drop." _

_Unwilling to second-guess himself, he drew the cup to his lips for a third and final time, and drank deep. _

_It was not immediately noticeable that something was not quite right. Adamant as Thor was about winning this round, he did not let light-headedness or a tightness in his chest deter him._

_The Aesir were a hardy people, powerful enough to be worshipped as gods by the mortals of Yggdrasil. They could survive a great many wounds that would have had others falter. Like most other, though, they needed air to live, which was why he eventually had to capitulate before this insurmountable task. _

_Or he would have, had he been able to._

_The cup was not glued to his hand yet he could not let it go. More accurately, he could not make his hand let go, as though his body had, all of a sudden, refused to listen to his mind's commands. He could not turn his head away from the cascade of water nor pry his stiff fingers loose with those not locked into position._

_Panic took hold of him. Was he about to die?_

_Surely, his Fate was not so grim. And so awfully short._

_Cruelly, his mind provided to him the story of another prince, whose life had ended similarly. Although, Vili, at least, had the loss of his beloved brother as an excuse to drink himself to death. On Asgard, children were taught about the tragedy of Bor's oldest sons through odes and songs. _

_No one would ever sing of _Thor_, except to caution others against stupidity._

_Gasping for breath and sputtering at the water that continued to pour down his throat, he gave up on his pride. Because he could not form any coherent speech, he pleaded with his eyes alone to be released from this curse. But his tormentor continued to stare at him in fascination, as a carrion eater would at a dying animal._

Heimdall can see me; _that was the one comforting truth he_ _clung to_. _Heimdallr would see his predicament and alert Father or Mother or _somebody_, and he would be saved. Until they could come for him, he had to endure._

_To distract himself from the ordeal, he imagined the king by his side, Gungnir levelled at their common enemy. In these imaginings Thor was wielding Mjölnir, the enchanted hammer currently resting in the weapons vault, that he had hoped to inherit one day, _would _inherit if he lived to see the day. _

_For one joyous heartbeat he even thought that his imagined battle was soon to begin, as footfalls rung through the cavernous hallway, but they were too quiet to be that of an armoured warrior and the voice that called out sounded much too young._

_"My lord?" the newcomer inquired, at first rather timidly then with more vehemence, when he received no answer. "My lord, are you in here? I had hoped to get your advice on... What is _this_?"_

_Thor was stuck in his seated position and could therefore not see who had entered the room. The other boy clearly could see _him_, though, judging by that last disgusted exclamation. If he was bothered by what he saw, would he help? _

_"Is this some poor jest?" _

_Thankfully, whether it was poor or not, the jets did not elicit any laughter._

_"'Tis an experiment. Would you care to watch?" Not waiting for confirmation the mage conjured another chair to his left to which he waved his visitor. _

_The boy was too agitated to sit, however; he could be heard pacing in and out of the room, as though he was about to leave but then decided against it. His words fell from his lips just as erratically. "But this... He cannot stop, can he? And he seems to be in pain. What is it that he is drinking? Is it just water or...? But even with water, so much of it cannot be good; he is not a fish, after all. Surely, if you do not intervene, he will drown."_

_"He might," his captor said without a hint of care. "Or he might not. It is possible that the enchantment will wear off after a while or he will drop the cup in the moment he loses consciousness. Perhaps he will even manage to free himself. I do not know the outcome; that is what makes it so interesting."_

_Being a member of nobility meant that people frequently spoke about him behind his back; being a child meant that he was sometimes discussed as though he were not present. Until now, no one had ever dared speak of him as a thing to be studied, like a fly caught in honey. Maybe the mage simply did not know who he had trapped thusly. If so, his visitor was good enough to enlighten him._

_"No, you must put a stop to this," he demanded quite harshly. "You cannot risk killing the son of Odin. If he dies here, we will all be in danger."_

_Well, yes, Father would be livid with any who harmed his family. It made little sense that the other boy would fear for himself, though, when he had done no wrong. And, strangely, the actual villain was acting as if he had nothing to worry about._

_Resting his chin on steepled fingers, the man now looked at him with a different sort of curiosity. "A son of Odin is he?" he said, a sinister smile spread over his face. "Even more reason to let this run its course. I would venture a guess that our esteemed king would be pleased by the outcome."_

_Which king? Certainly not the one of Asgard. And that left... Damn, his sluggish mind would not let him recall what realms had queens or kings or neither. Nidavellir, he thought, had only recently gotten a new ruler, but surely a century was too short a time to earn that king's ire. And Freyr would not want him hurt, would he?_

_"No he would not!" another's voice echoed his thoughts. Through half-lidded eyes Thor saw the slim figure dart around the table and level a finger at the seated mage. "Nor would _I_. And as your prince, I command you to end this foul game."_

_Loki. Loki Laufeyson. _

_Not the person he would have expected to come to his rescue. Also not the companion he would have wished to spent his last moments with. But it would be one or the other. _

_Who knew that, one day, his chances of survival might be curtailed because he had pushed a boy into a pond?_

.........

NF

.........

"That's it?" Stark complained loudly, after the thrilling rendition of an unpublished Nordic saga had come to a screeching halt just when the hero was about to die. "Seriously, Hammer Time, you can't stop there. I mean, it's kinda obvious that your buddy didn't let you drown but we haven't gotten to the part where you describe the actual bad guy. Which was, you know, the whole point of this story."

He wouldn't make it a habit to agree with the man but Fury, too, slowly got fed up with receiving information piecemeal, as though they kept getting interrupted by fucking commercial breaks. The Tesseract had been gone for five days before he'd decided to put the team together, now the damn bastard who took it had a seven-day head start.

And from the bits they'd learned about the "bad guy" it didn't seem exaggerated to say they were dealing with a sociopath. So, he was ready to cut Odinson some slack, in light of the childhood trauma he had clearly suffered, but as this was not actually a TV show, he would not wait for the next episode to get to the stupid conclusion.

"Yeah, I'm sure the science department will be ecstatic at all the details you've given us on another planet. Sadly, stuff like that doesn't get us any closer to catching the piece of shit that made off with a magical battery powerful enough to light up the entire planet. Is there a chance we'll be hearing about him any time soon?"

The big blond was clearly not doing great; hunched in on himself and holding onto his girlfriend's hand for dear life, he stammered out his response, "I know not how much help I can be in.. in that regard. He did not show his, eh, true face to me at first and later... My strength was fading, my mind could form few coherent thoughts..."

Did Asgard have therapists? At any rate, it could probably not hurt to give SHIELD's in-house doctors the necessary clearance to handle alien cases, for the aftereffects of mind-control alone.

"Shall I save us all some time and take over the narration?" Loki suggested in a tired, rough voice; pushing through his own PTSD to put the other prince out of his misery.

"Would you?" Thor asked, his tone entreating.

Going by the way the blue shoulders tensed, the question worked like a call to arms. And the part-time hero entered the battlefield with a good amount of false bravado. "Eh, I might as well," he said stiffly, not making eye contact with any of the people in the room, "since it is I who knows our enemy best."

A circumstance he clearly regretted but which hopefully wouldn't stop him from continuing the story.

Fury would have offered the man a strong drink, just to get him started, if Lewis hadn't added "Never, ever get him drunk!" to the report drafted about him in Puente Antiguo; written on a post-it note, and underlined three times.The former intern had resisted any attempt on his part to find out what would happen if he ignored her advice.

Fortunately, Laufeyson managed to soldier through his anxiety even while sober.

"The reason that Thor and I crossed paths that day was that there had been a series of thefts on Jötunheimr. The items stolen mostly belonged to members of noble houses, who all went to complain of their losses to my father. I had it in mind to solve this problem and so sought out the aid of one widely believed to be much wiser than I."

_........._

_LL_

_........._

_Finding Fárikastali was test of character as well as of one's patience. Of course, the actual mountain fastness did not change location but the way to it did. He had been here many times before and had become quite used to not being able to just walk in. Whether he had to climb to a particular spot or employ all the spells he had learned so far to overcome the changeable defences, dependent entirely on the mood of the castle's singular occupant. _

_Summoning the older Jötunn to him would have been far simpler, but even Father did not expect such orders to be obeyed. The king would not have trusted the advice of this particular lord anyhow, although _he_, unlike Thjazi, had never grasped for the throne._

_The number of missing heirlooms was getting out of hand, however. Noblemen from all over the realm were requesting additional guards to keep their holdings safe or for the palace guards to finally catch the culprit. It was only a matter of time until their frustration turned against the royal family._

_The oddest part of the mystery was that none of the homes had been broken into; the artefacts just disappeared from under their owners' noses. Therefore, Loki suspected magic to be involved. Who else would he consult on this matter than the most powerful mage of Jötunheimr?_

_Prepared for a lengthy journey, he had left home shortly after sundown, only to come upon an open entrance at the foot of the mountain. That could not be right. Almost he might have worried that the thieves had been at work here, as well. But, really, it would be easier to steal a piece of gold from a dragon than to take so much as a pebble from this place without tripping the wards. And he could feel those still; radiating from the very stone they were layered onto._

_More likely was that his lordship had anticipated Loki's arrival. News did travel fast, after all, especially the dismal kind._

_Not bothering with announcing himself, as he had always been welcomed here, the prince entered the castle and called out to his fellow Jötunn._

_"My lord?" When no one greeted him in the receiving room, he went to the private quarters, instead, thinking that the mage was probably partaking in his morning meal. "My lord, are you in here? I had hoped to get your advice on..."_

_He was indeed sitting at his dining table and there was food in front of him, but the company he shared his meal with was unusual, to say the least._

_It had been about a decade since he had last met Thor Odinson, at a feast on Álfheimr. The arrogant Ás had looked well, then; showing of his shiny new axe to all other guests as though he had crafted the weapon himself. He did not look well, now._

_"What is this?" Loki asked, feeling utterly appalled at what he saw. There was a gilded drinking horn in the other boy's hand, that he held in a crushing grip. Water was flowing out of the cup faster than anyone could possibly swallow it; the sound of it only interrupted by wheezing breaths and pained whimpers. _

_"Is this some poor jest?" he wondered, because it could certainly be a mere illusion. That would be more plausible than a sole Asgardian on Jötunheimr, let alone the crown prince. _

_And his lordship did have a rather dark sense of humour, made evident when he grinned smugly at the sight that Loki found so very disgusting. _

_"'Tis an experiment," he replied, conjuring a stone chair to his left and waving his hand in invitation. "Would you care to watch?"_

_These sorts of experiments were not new to him; one could only learn seidr by practising it, after all. Yet to test out a spell or curse on a living being came very close to torture. He might have even balked at trying out this particular enchantment on a fish. _

_Loath as he was to interfere with the older mage's studies, he could not just leave and pretend he had not seen this. Could he?_

_Unsure what to do, he paced the hall, voicing his thoughts aloud because they became too wild to be contained within his mind._

_"But this... He cannot stop, can he? And he seems to be in pain." It certainly sounded painful, like a sea creature slowly suffocating on land.  
_

_"What is it that he is drinking? Is it just water or...?"_

_Poison would already have achieved its desired effect and he could not imagine that wine would have been wasted for this, costly as it was to have it imported from other realms._

_"But even with water, so much of it cannot be good; he is not a fish, after all. Surely, if you do not intervene, he will drown."_

_Was that the goal? And why did the prospect trouble him so? The Aesir were his enemies, and the fewer there were of them, the better, right?_

_Thor was only a boy, though, just like him, and he had not done anything to deserve this._

_"He might," the other Jötunn said, unsympathetic to Loki's inner turmoil or towards the pain he was causing the other prince. "Or he might not. It is possible that the enchantment will wear off after a while or he will drop the cup in the moment he loses consciousness. Perhaps he will even manage to free himself. I do not know the outcome; that is what makes it so interesting."_

_He had learned much in these halls and he was grateful for every lesson. Playing with another person's life was something he did not find interesting at all, though. _

_"No, you must put a stop to this," he countered, his voice rising to a shout, heart beating frantically in his chest because he did not know if there was anything _he_ could do to stop this madness. "You cannot risk killing the son of Odin. If he dies here, we will all be in danger."_

_His teacher had never been very politically minded but surely he had to realise that the death of Asgard's prince would bring the Giant-Slayer's wrath down upon them. It seemed, however, that his words had not served as a warning but as an introduction._

_"A son of Odin is he?" the lord said, curiosity plain in his voice. _

_If he had not known whom he had invited into his home, how had Thor come to be here? Thanks to that pesky gatekeeper, no one could just venture to or out of Asgard unseen. Was there a trick to hide oneself from magical sight?_

_The thought of such a spell was so very enticing that he might have forgotten all about the cruelty taking place before his eyes, if the other Jötunn had not reminded him of it._

_"Even more reason to let this run its course," he claimed, with a dismissive gesture in the Às' direction. "I would venture a guess that our esteemed king would be pleased by the outcome."_

_"No he would not!" _

_It was outrageous to suggest this. Father was a man of honour, who would never condone the murder of children, no matter which realm they hailed from. Furious at hearing such slander, Loki stepped around the table to look the offender straight in the eye as he said,_

_"Nor would I. And as your prince, I command you to end this foul game."_

_To issue such an order was not without risks. Yes, he was price over all of Jötunheimr but members of the other two royal lines were more likely to laugh in his face than to obey him. And here, in the bowls of a mountain that no one could enter uninvited, he held only so much power as its lord allowed._

_Indeed, the smile he received in answer was more condescending than friendly. "Now, you have always been bold, my lad. But to order me around in my own hall, that is presumptuous even for you."_

_Although the wording was no more severe than any of the myriad scoldings he had heard from other adults, he did not miss the underlying threat. This was not Vagga, where he could trust to have the respect of everyone around him. In theses circumstances, he could be excused for feeling slightly nervous at having offended the older mage, which did not prevent him from speaking his mind._

_"It is not presumptuous of me to stop you from killing an innocent person," Loki stated firmly, with a furtive look at Thor, who seemed moments away from passing out and was making strange gurgling sounds as he attempted to breathe through water. _

_Ugh. The next spell he was going to research was one to cut off his hearing._

_The lord of Fárikastali, too, had to hear that his experiment was nearing its conclusion. With his back to the drowning prince, he rose and proffered his seat to the other. _

_"If he truly is as son of that bastard Odin, then his innocence is debatable," he said scathingly, somewhat lazily summoning his staff from a corner of the room. Leaning on it, he amended, "But if you think him worth saving, would you care to place a wager on his life?"_

_It should be impossible to put so much meaning into just one look, but the damn Ás had always been stupidly easy to read. Thus, he knew that Thor was begging him not to let him die, the very moment their eyes met._

_And he would not, could not, even were he to disregard the danger to Jötunheimr. They were of similar age and this was not the way either of them should leave this plane._

_More than a little apprehensive about this, he asked, "What are you suggesting?"_

_He could tell that even hinting at an agreement to the wager had been a mistake almost immediately, because his lordship was grinning in satisfaction, like the cat that caught a mouse by its tail. "Well, my exalted guest was not inclined to dine with me, yet it would be a shame to throw away so lovely a meal, would it not?" _

_Using his staff, the mage pointed to the table at his back, which was laden with dishes of a standard meal on Jötunheimr; goats head meat, ink fish, seaweed. The portions, though, were great enough to feed a family of ten._

_"Should you be able to empty the plates within one hour, your friend here is free to go."_

_Having Thor referred to as his "friend" was irritating, but that his teacher would think him so foolish to fall for this obvious trick had the qualities of an insult._

_"This food was part of your experiment and you believe I would touch even a morsel of it?" he asked, voice full of disbelief, his gut filled with rage that had magic pool at his fingertips. "I am a son of Laufey and not some dimwit you can toy with!"_

_In one big blaze the table and its contents went up in flames. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Thor flinch, which sadly did not make him drop the cursed cup. _

_But, more important, the other Jötunn had filched, as well. _

_And while Loki did not think his own life was in danger, it could not hurt to remind the great lord that there would be consequences, if he attempted any more trickery._

_Still holding wisps of fire in his palm, the prince warned, "I would think it best that you release the Odinson now so that I can return home, before my family comes looking for me and finds him here."_

_Unimpressed by the threat of royal justice, but warily eyeing the fire, his lordship replied, over-polite, "Now, now, Your Highness, you are free to go, naturally." With an indifferent shrug of shoulders he added, "_Him_ I cannot realise, however, even if I wanted to." Only when Loki shot him a puzzled look did he explain, "I know not how to undo the workings on the drinking horn; it was not I who placed them there. Hence the need for a test subject."_

_Said "test subject" became even more distressed at this news; understandably so._

_"If you did not curse it yourself, then how did you come by it?" _

_Jötunheimr hardly had a bunch of enchanted artefacts just lying around. Oh. _

_"_You_ are the one who has stolen all these heirlooms in the past months." That should not disappoint him as much as it did; he had known his teacher was not above breaking the law when it suited him, yet he had not taken the man for a common thief._

_"I did not steal them," the mage corrected him pointedly. "Merely borrowed what was put on display to do no more than collect dust. I have every intention to return the trinkets to their rightful owners, as soon as I have studied their uses. You of all people ought to understand my desire not to leave ancient knowledge untapped."_

_He did understand, yes, for all that he could not agree with the method of obtaining knowledge through cruelty. _

_"What have you learned, then, about this cup?" he asked, not hiding the disdain for that object._

_"So far, only that, should you take more than three sips, you will not be able to stop drinking."_

_That much seemed obvious; Thor was certainly not drowning himself for fun. Yet the vessel itself looked ordinary and should have long since run dry. _

_"Where is all the water coming from?" He would have felt it if a spell was continually summoning water from somewhere else in the castle and a working, no matter how complex, that had the cup fill itself still required a source._

_It seemed, the older mage no longer cared for the answer, now that he could not enjoy his experiment in peace anymore. "A nearby lake, perhaps," he suggested listlessly, grinding his staff into the ground in lieu of doing something more violent with it. "Or the ice above our heads. It makes no difference."_

_Oh, but it did!_

_Like the talent he had for fire, which was so very contrary to his nature, Loki's understanding for the layout of the World Tree was almost innate. He could tell instinctively where one branch ended and another began, had even carved out a little corner for himself, to store his most treasured possessions. If the spell on the drinking horn linked it to some other place on the realm, he should be able to sense this connection._

_Excited by his discovery, he rushed over to the charred remains of the table and knelt on the chair next to Thor. "Hey, Odinson, can you hear me?" _

_That he was still conscious was a surprise; he was much paler than usual and drenched in the water that had made it past his lips. Lips that were tinged blue, which could not be healthy for one of his kind. He gave an almost imperceptible nod in response, though, to show that his wits had not fled him._

_"All right. I do believe I can help you, but you have to do as I say." Weakened as he was, the blond still had enough strength in him to roll his eyes. "Do you truly want to argue with me now?" _

_Behind him, the older Jötunn was chuckling derisively, either because he thought his student would fail to break the ancient curse or because he believed the stubborn Ás would die before he agreed to the attempt._

_Either way, he had laughed too soon, as Loki was determined to succeed and Thor proved that he clung to his life more than to his pride by giving another nod of assent. _

_"Good. You see, it is vital that you let go of the cup the moment I tell you to, because I am not sure of how long I can block the connection," he explained, not really expecting to be understood, only hoping that he would be heeded. _

_He saw no need to wait for another tiny nod and just opened his senses to the powers of Yggdrasil. With one finger resting on the gold inlay of the horn and his eyes tightly shut, he delved between the branches looking for one newly formed, one that was out of place from the pattern he knew so well._

_Rooting out the invasive "sprout" was quick work but he could tell, once he beheld the spell, that he lacked the power to undo it in its entirety. It was too old and too twisted, probably altered more than once from its original casting. But a spell did not need to be unravelled in order to be rendered useless; interrupting it was enough._

_After calming his breathing to an even rhythm, Loki drew as much magic into himself as he was able, then launched it all against the enchantment. It was like pummelling a waterfall with another, smaller waterfall, just to redirect its course slightly, for a single moment._

_"Now!" he shouted, when he could feel the curse beneath his fingers flicker out._

_Hearing the cup clatter to the ground was ridiculously satisfying._

_"See!" he said with his head turned towards his teacher, "And you always claimed I was not ready for such complex seidr."_

_This time the old mage laughed in honest amusement. "Ah, I apologise for underestimating you. You did well, Loki."_

_The words filled him with pride, which died in his chest when he saw Thor retching up a bucket of water. _

_"I do not require your praise," he remarked sharply, stepping closer to the bend-over Asgardian. "Can you walk?" he asked, not knowing what he would do if he received a negative answer. Carry him?_

_The other boy looked at him, perplexed, but managed to remain on his feet. Good enough._

_Somewhat roughly he grabbed the ugly red cloak and pulled Thor along after him. Which worked for about three steps. _

_"Hey, not so fast, I cannot...," the blond complained then promptly coughed up more water._

_Norns, he must have drunk half the sea, from the look of it._

_Suddenly feeling impatient, Loki tugged at the cloak to gain the Ás' attention. "Come now, I thought you would be happy to be gone from here."_

_At this Thor nodded weakly, then stumbled towards the hallway on shaking legs, his every breath sounding pained._

_They were not stopped from leaving the castle, though its lord did address him as he walked past. "You cannot say you have not learned something from this, as have I. Surely, that was worth a bit of discomfort for your little friend."_

_Why had he ever thought this man wise?_

_"You disgust me," he spat out, and left the chamber without a look back._

_In the hallway Thor was leaning against a wall, trying to catch his breath._

_"How did you get here?" he asked him, far more harshly than the other boy deserved. It was not _him_ that Loki was angry with._

_"There was ship... a pirate ship."_

_Initially he assumed that the lack of air had driven the blond a little mad but then it dawned on him of what he was speaking._

_"Oh, right, Lord Skrymir uses a drakkar to scare off those bothersome marauders." _

_And apparently to catch himself new victims for his experiments._

_"Skrymir?" the Asgardian asked, as though he had never heard that name before. Because, of course he had not. Far be it for any of the golden fools to know anything beyond their own realm_

_"Well yes, he is the ruler of Utgard. Where else did you think you are?"_

_"Honestly," Thor replied, his expression sheepish, "I did not even know I was on Jötunheimr before you arrived."_

_Ah, so the other mage had played with his head as well as with his life. Loki much preferred illusions to such invasive magics; they could produce the same result without causing true harm. And there was no denying what that horrid curse could have done._

_"You are very lucky that I did arrive," he claimed, just a tad boastful. "I am sure you will agree that I saved your life."_

_Although he looked like drowning had been a less painful experience by comparison, Odinson admitted that, "Yes, you did."_

_"Splendid. That means you owe me a debt."_

_Was it fair to ask for this, when the reason he had helped the other prince had been entirely selfish? Probably not. It was not what heroes would do. But, then again, he was no hero and he could not be expected to save his enemy for free._

_Slowly and as if he just did not have the strength left to protest, Thor nodded._

_Before he lost his nerve, Loki quickly voiced his demand. "You cannot speak of what happened here, to anyone. I want your word on that."_

_He might as well have asked for the blond's head on a platter, given the rage in the blue eyes._

_"That monster needs to be punished for what he has done!" _

_Usually, he would have slapped the damn Asgardian for referring to any of his kinsmen with such a hatefully word, but maybe in this case the insult was warranted._

_"He will be punished," he assured the other prince, "but not by _your_ king." _

_If Father put him on trial, a third of the realm might rebel, but at least it would not lead to war._

_To Thor, it seemed, it did not matter who divested Skrymir of his head, as long as someone did. "Fine," he said mulishly, kicking a pebble against the opposite wall. "I will not tell anyone of what has happened in Utgard this day, this I swear." Not the most heartfelt oath, though that mattered little. The son of Odin frequently claimed he was the stuff of heroes and heroes did not break their word, even if it was given only begrudgingly. "And now I would like to go home."_

_With a polite smile Loki waved a hand in the direction of the hallway and held his tongue until he heard the crunching of boots on snow. He had to laugh as he watched the other boy look up at the jet-black sky; what little moonlight there was at this time of day was probably not enough for Asgardian eyes to see more than the tip of the nose in front of them._

_"Do you even know how to get back?" he asked, not without a touch of glee. It would have been amusing to watch the golden lunk valiantly trying to find a path home in the dark. Maybe not today, though. _ _"Worry not, I want you here just as much as you want to be here. So, I will be kindly showing you the way, shall I?" _

_He grinned wickedly at Thor, but the blond was not looking at him at all. Instead, he kept staring at the sky or, it seemed, at the mountain fastness of Utgard. _

_Well, it was hard to blame him for being fascinated by the site of his near death. For Loki it would take a century, at least, to get the images of that pitiful struggle out of his head._

_There would, he hoped, be no occasion for them to meet, till then._

.........

NF

.........

"Not much later I lead him to a pathway that opened up on Vanaheimr, I publicly accused Skrymir of several orders of theft and the next time Thor and I met was about fifty years after this debacle, when he had to save _my_ life, because the Norns love to have their fun at our expense," was how Laufeyson finished the story, a sneer on his face directed at the ceiling, probably meant for the deities that had pissed him off.

Okay, so now they had a name. Which was not enough for an INDEX entry, but maybe for a Google search. There was just one detail he needed an airtight confirmation on.

"So, to make sure I've got this right, the asshole that stole the goddamned cube and mind-controlled you is one of _your_ people."

A _human_ manic with magic wasn't enough. Nah, that would have been boring.

Loki just sighed, his tone resigned, "Yes. Unfortunately." He placed both hands on the conference table and pushed himself up out of his chair. "Which is why I need to leave now."

Seriously?

"That's your idea of help?" Fury asked, getting up too, and just barely stopping himself from flipping the fucking table. "You throw a name at us and then let us do the actual fighting alone, because you don't want his blood on your hands?"

"On the contrary," the prince said, with a smile that was positively feral and his eyes burning with an inner fire. "I would very much like to stab my dagger through his skull, repeatedly, until his brains leak out. But before I do so, I will need to seek permission from my king to execute that vile traitor."

Not missing a beat, he switched to Asgardian; exchanging some words with Thor, who nodded at him gravely, probably wishing him the alien equivalent of "Good luck".

And then he disappeared in a shimmer of green. The only evidence that he'd been there all being the frost on the table, in the shape of hand prints.

Nicky Fury really hated meetings. Those with the Avengers were by far the worst. And this was only their first mission.

Any more of this shit, and he would just make Coulson director, then hit up Danvers for a quiet corner of the galaxy where he could sleep through the apocalypse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've had a lot of worldbuilding here and quite a lot of Norse history, too. So, I will elaborate on that a little, shall I?
> 
> The flashback of this chapter is a bastardized retelling of a story in the _Gylfaginning_ of the Prose Edda, where Loki, Thor and his servant Thjalfi are, unknowingly, made to compete against the personifications of wildfire, old age and thought. 
> 
> The drinking horn Thor has to empty in three tries is connected to the sea, which is the reason we have tides on earth.
> 
> _Njörð_ \- is the Norse god of the seas, his home Nóatún, literally means "ship-enclosure".
> 
> _Jörð_ is the goddess of the earth and Thor's biological mother, according to Norse Lore.
> 
> _Sólskin_ is Old Norse for "sunshine".
> 
> On the ships: A _Faering_ ("four-oaring") is a small rowboat, a _Knarr_ ("keelboat") is a cargo ship, a _skeid_ ("sleider") is a large, slender warships and a _drakkar_ ("dragon") is essentially a warship decorated in dragon carvings, which is supposed to scare off other seafarers.
> 
> _Thurs-Glófi_ means "Giant's glove" and is an allusion to the first part of the story, where Thor and Co sleep in a cave that turns out to be Skrymir's glove.
> 
> _Fárikastali_ is my made-up name for Skrymir's home, roughly meaning "Moving Castle", because it disappears at the end of the saga, and because I couldn't resist the reference. 
> 
> I hope that I have not put an end to your interest in this story because of the terribly long wait. I would love to hear what you're all thinking about this chapter and the long awaited reveal of our main villain.
> 
> Thank you for all the Kudos I have received in the last months. It always makes me so happy to know that people are still reading this story, even when there is no new content.  
I'm equally grateful that I received no angry comments, that demanded a new chapter.  
Your patience is much appreciated.
> 
> See you all next chapter.


End file.
